


Promised

by VasaliaTheWise



Category: The Great (TV 2020)
Genre: 18th Century, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage AU, Bethrothal, Embarrassment, F/M, Food, Friends to Lovers, Russia, beautiful costumes, but its like that, cw: language, cw: mentions of sex, finery, i guess, mild politics, period drama, proper stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24896968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VasaliaTheWise/pseuds/VasaliaTheWise
Summary: When Emperor Peter's behavior towards your family threatens the alliance between them and Russia, the only way to solve it from breaking is through an arranged marriage with his friend, the handsome but heartbroken Count Grigor Dymov. A man you barely know.
Relationships: Grigor Dymov/ fem! Reader, Grigor Dymov/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

“This wine tastes like shit, where’s the vodka?”

The bread roll you had been chewing on nearly fell out of your mouth in surprise. This was the man you had been expecting for weeks. The Lord and Sovereign of all of Russia. The son of Peter the Great, a legendary warrior king beloved by all who knew him. He even shared a name with this godly figure.

The second he announced his arrival sent everyone in your house into a giddy panic. The manor was cleaned inside out. Every butler and maid lined up outside for his entrance in their most pressed uniforms. Your family and you had put on your finest garbs as well. You had even bought a new dress for the occasion, a pink silk gown with white cloth down the sleeves, and a white middle part while bows decorated your cream stomacher.

Every soul in the manor was there when his carriage arrived to greet and curtsy to him and his friend, tour the house and serve him a meal featuring the best cuts, foods, and drinks available, some of which were gifts from the locals honoring his appearance.

And he just called your finest vintage wine shit.

Every pulse in your house was heard in that moment. Your mother gasped a little at the sound of such language used at the table. Especially him.  
“We…we have whiskey to be served after, it’s stronger” you suggest meekly.

“I suppose, just something stronger than this,” his companion next to him reasoned.

He was a man who was perhaps in his thirties at most, brown hair barely seen beneath his dusty wig and in a dark green jacket, only a few steps below Peter’s finery. He swirled the glass with his large hands and took polite sips of it. You looked for a reaction to the taste and barely saw one.

“You want the emperor to drink shit wine, then!? What kind of hosts are you?” Peter asked, leaning back in his chair.

He was far more relaxed than the sea of straight backs of everyone at your table. He even tossed the glass over his shoulder.

KKKK!  
A servant behind rushed up with a broom to sweep up the bits.

Your mother and father looked at each other questioningly. Your brother normally had a healthy appetite, but his fork paused in mid-air since the wine complaint.

With a little sigh, your father turned to a butler and asked him to retrieve a bottle of whiskey and to look for any spare vodka at once.

Looking at your brother, the sanguine chatterbox, you saw his face had paled and his jaw was still tight. Looks like it would have to be you then to alter the mood and keep the peace.

Turning to the Emperor’s companion on Peter’s right, you began to shyly greet him “Sir...uhm…I’m sorry, I forgot your last name…”

“Dymov,” he answered kindly.

His eyes softened. At least he seemed less of an unpredictable bull as his friend.

“Sir Dymov, what is the weather like in Russia? Is it as cold as everyone says?” you questioned.

“Oh, yes, very! Some winters have crowds of people wearing fur coats indoors and gathered around the fire,” he explained.

Peter cut in, chewing on the meat with an open mouth as if he were a cow in a field, “which is why we need to drink vodka to stay warm. Speaking of which, where is your butler, and why the fuck hasn’t the vodka gotten here yet?!”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that evening, there was some parlor entertainment as usual. Coffee, whiskey, and vodka were all served and seemed to be swallowed in generous amounts.

It began with you showing your musical gifts. You were to sing as your father accompanied you on the pianoforte. Your breath was feeling higher than what was needed for healthy singing. You could not help but gape at the two Russians who seemed to analyze you. They were hard not to ignore since they were both astoundingly tall, Peter only barely taller. Sir Dymov listened attentively, hands leaning against him as he and the emperor were offered the softest chairs.

But Peter was somehow enraptured. He looked right at you and was still, listening to it the whole time.

You noticed his eyes were not on your face. And your pink dress was as modest as your mother's.

Forcing yourself back into the music, you picked a spot in the parlor, near a bookshelf, and stared at it, trying to focus on the music and words. Lose yourself in its brief escape.

There was polite applause following. When you curtsied, you put a protective hand over your chest.

Your brother, more inclined to the world of theater, offered a reading of some texts by the finest playwrights of your land. Everyone listened to him as they settled for cards at a table, but you stood a while to focus on your knitting. Nerves had shot through you and you had to do something with your hands that would calm you more than cards with the boorish guest.

“May I sit here, Miss Y/L/N?” Sir Dymov asked to the spot next to yours.

“Yes, you may…” you answered, finishing a row of purl stitches.

As he sat down, he even offered to hold your yarn and straighten any strings.

“Thank you for the dinner, and the reading, and the music and everything, it was nice, far more peaceful than at home! And God knows, I could…we all could use some peace…,” he turned away briefly to keep a small eye on Peter.

“Sir Dymov, why would you need peace? Is it the war with Sweden?” you asked curiously.

His angled face looked oddly dark, despite the glow from the fire.

“No…Just a little bit of personal heartbreak, Lady Y/L/N. And your song was about love, so I was reminded of her.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” you asked

Flinching away, you cursed the impulse. It might be too personal.

“She rejected my marriage offer. She’s uhm, uh…how do I put this politely… she’s Peter’s mistress,” he explained

“Oh.”

“And she said she would not give up her position after our marriage, so she said I could either have to be married to her but share her with Peter or she would not consider my offer at all,” he sighed.

Setting your knitting away, you looked up at him with empathy.

“Peter, that sounds hard. But I can’t imagine how her saying yes would make anything easier…”

“I do miss her, and she’s in court so I see her still every day,” Dymov complained.

“You’ll find a way through heartbreak. I’ve had some of my own, but something better might happen!” you say, shrugging your shoulders.

Once you set things down and decide to join the card table, you see Peter look up from his cards and scowl.

“You know, this is dull. Where is the louder singing? The wild dancing? The animals? No wonder people die here so much, they become bored!” he spat throwing off his hand onto the table.

“Things here are…a little quiet compared to your mighty empire,” your mother answers with a plastic smile. “But we make do…”

“I’m practically dying of boredom. How the hell was my father's friends with you lot?” Peter asked.

Your father’s head ticked to the side, his eyes getting bigger.

“We were friends since our youth, and he loved all of us,” he said, words tinged with a subtle venom.

Your mother cleaned up the cards, and your brother paused his dramatic reading.

“Your highness, we can all retire if you don’t want to play anymore. I think traveling all the way here from your palace must have been exhausting. Is there anything else you need to make your stay here more comfortable before tomorrow?” she asked.

Peter’s eyes glinted up at you. Your body cinched as if ready to fight or flee.

“How about you offer to bring your daughter Y/N to my bedchambers for tonight, that would make me a lot more comfortable!”

Dymov’s jaw dropped. Your father stood up a little to get out of his chair but he was beaten. In a flash, your brother slammed his book shut and rushed over, staring the ruler of Russia in the face.

“How dare you treat my sister as one of your whores?! Never!” he yelled.

“It’s my right as your guest?” Peter rebutted with a bizarre calm.

“After we’ve been kind to you? Gave you our best food and wine, housed you in our nicest room?” your brother roared.

You wanted to shrink yet you were frozen. Your father walked to your side and put an arm around you.

“You can have anything you want, but you’re a married man, Peter. My daughter’s dignity is important to me, as is your own wives. I don’t want to insult her as well,” he reasoned.

“Honor? Honor? You all only spit about honor when you live shit lives with shit food and shit company!” Peter argued.

The warmth of your father’s presence left you as he walked forward. Scuttling, your mother stood by you to take your hand in his place.

“Your highness, I knew him as a brother. If Peter the Great was here…” your father warned.

“He isn’t here! And I’m the Emperor now! And he isn’t!” Peter bellowed.

So on. And so on.

You retired early, your mother by your side to escort you as you saw your father and brother arguing back and forth. The only ally Peter had, other than his title, was Dymov holding him back. To protect or stop him, you could not tell.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next two days there was such bad blood it was unbelievable. There were no fun outings as planned. You ate alone. You hardly saw anyone. Any room you walked into; you could hear yelling.

Your father made sure you weren’t alone with Peter, but it seemed his eyes had gotten distracted with the fighting. Hopefully, he was joking. Partly.

One night you snuck downstairs to have a glass of water and heard a few words despite yourself.

“That’s it! I leave tomorrow morning! And you can forget my support and all your fucking soldiers, too!”

“Your highness, our money is about to get tight. And our people need it even more than us!”

“Too fucking bad, then!”

Oh no…Russia is our enemy.  
You cried yourself to sleep that night. The idea of now starving. And your brother was about to marry a woman he loved in a fortnight. How could he provide for her or any future children? How would all the people who depended on your generosity fare with reduced funds? Worst of all, Peter had his quick moods and ideas. What if he declared war out of spite from this one visit?

You never met Peter the Great. He sometimes seemed like a kindly fairy god father in some ways he had been mentioned. His love of your house and your country and his friendship with your father. Financial support was given when needed. How so much was funded and gifted and provided thanks to his generosity.

How could any of you live after that? Even with the embarrassment alone of being insulted by an emperor?

As you woke up, you only had barely time for breakfast when your mother entered.

“Y/N…we would like to talk to you.”

“Mother, I have breakfast. And I was hoping today I’d practice my music and finish that scarf,” you dismissed.

But from the look on her face you had no choice.

“It’s important. And you must be there.”

She walked you over into the main table where days ago everyone dined awkwardly. The Emperor and his companion were there. Peter pouted yet Dymov’s face looked as if he had seen a ghost and his folded hand were shaking a little.

As you sat down in your chair, every eye looked at you, there was a moment of tense silence.

“Well, what is it?” you asked.

“We’ve reached an agreement with Peter…” your father began.

“Are we going to lose…lose everything?” you asked anxiously.

Your heart was tolling in your eardrums as the words left your lips. It had been the question that kept you worried for days.

“No, your family is going to be fine…” Dymov assured a hand placed over his mouth.

“You can still have some of my father’s money and support from the Russian crown and our fucking alliance even!” Peter threw in, hands going up.

“But…”

“But what?” you said.

“You have to bring half of your army to fight for me, Sweden’s trying to invade us and we need men. And some of your relatives have to swear loyalty to me. But that promise needs to be secured.” Peter continued

“How? We are already sending you soldiers and subjects? What else would do it?” you asked. Although your gut was telling you the answer.

There was a little pause, but quite an evil smile from Peter.

“There has to be a marriage. Your brother’s betrothed. So you’ll have to marry into Russia to secure it!” he revealed.

Blinking, the wind was knocked out as if you had been punched in the stomach.

“Sir, you’re married to…to Sophie! That Austrian girl!” you cried.

“Sophie? She isn’t Sophie anymore; she’s already christened by my church with a new name: she’s Empress Catherine of Russia now. And since she will be your ruler and you will address her as such! Might as well christen and give you a new name too!” he scolded.

“Of course, I mean I will but…but…who do I have to marry? Do you have any…any brothers?” you fret.

Numbness gripped your hands and nausea gripped your stomach at the thought of marrying a copy of Peter.

“I’ve got no brothers, no male relatives of age or alive for you and I want this contract done soon so…”

His head turned to Dymov with a congratulatory pat on the back.

“It’s Grigor here you’ll have to fuck for life in about a month!”

Grigor’s ears turned pink and he looked up at you, lips tight.

And if I say no? you start to wonder, tasting the words.

But what choice did you have?

“Lady Y/L/N, I promise, this isn’t any easier for me either…” he finally said. “I know this arrangement isn’t coming the way you expected…and I’m just as shocked as you are.”

Would you put your family and your people’s future down the drain? Would you let them become bankrupt, ruin your father’s memory of his friend, and make enemies with one of the richest, largest, and most powerful countries because of your selfishness?

Besides, no suitors had been calling you, really. None likable or with good intentions at least. You were getting to the age of spinsterdom. You knew you had to be desperate if you wanted any sense of security for yourself or your family. Who knew if another offer like this could be made?

Taking a deep breath, you looked Peter in the eye.

“I will do it. For my family and for everyone who we look after.”

Peter produced a document agreeing to the engagement, marriage, and benefits it brought. You and Dymov signed it.

Afterward, there was a small service in the chapel to pray for the future and for this marriage. But you were half in another world, unaware this was happening. Dymov seemed to flush between being pale or being red.

Immediately later, they decided all was well and to make plans to leave. Before packing, Dymov approached your parents and you in the parlor.

“I have to alert you of something that will happen, when Lady Y/L/N arrives…there will be a test done by the priests to see if she’s, uh, pure…and it involves checking her…” he gestured to his pants.

You let out a shocked gasp. What kind of kingdom were you about to be thrown into?

“I just wanted you to know, so you wouldn’t be shocked,” Dymov added on.

Your mother took your hand again and rubbed your knuckles soothingly.

“We have family physicians here. Trusted friends. They will do the examination and sign a document right before she goes. There will always be a chaperone until the marriage, to make sure everything is by Russia’s standards,’ she insisted, squeezing your hand extra tight.

Before they left the whole family saw off the Russian party. As Dymov turned to you, his blue eyes darkened slightly. He bowed lowest for you and kissed your hand.

“I’ll write to you as much as I can. You can call me Grigor,” he said.

“I guess you can call me Y/F/N…Grigor,” you replied

“Goodbye, Y/F/N. We will see each other…before the wedding. Soon.”

As kind as the gesture was, your brain had not stopped reeling. It remained even as you stood there, watching the carriage trot away. A pair of blue eyes even looking at you sadly from the window.

He seemed to have the same concern

How could you travel to live in another country ruled by someone like Peter?

And how could you love, much less marry, a man you just met?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because of Peter's actions, your family's alliance with Russia is on shaky ground. The only way to solve it is through an arranged marriage with his friend, Count Grigor Dymov. Now a month has passed and you are set off to your marriage. How will you cope with Imperial Russia and even more so with the people inside it? And how will you fare being betrothed to Grigor?

“Countess Y/F/N Dymov does have a nice ring to it,’ your mother said as the carriage rolled on.  
Rocking back and forth, her eyebrows went up and she nodded in approval at the thought. Though you stayed silent, watching the Russian forests pass by. Your fur lined coat felt too heavy as did your scarf. You saw your mother lift a hand opposite of the one holding her novel to scratch at her own scarf. But the air was getting colder. You were definitely in Russia by now.  
You glanced down at the latest letter from the gangly Russian count:

Dear Y/F/N,  
I hope you and your family are doing well. Upon reading your last letter, you said you were worried about children. There are a few children here. Count Arkady has a little army of his own running about the halls. Who knows when it might happen, but I am sure you will be a fine mother. You may even make friends here. We have plenty of ladies here you may talk to. And we have fine physicians here.   
Oh god, that was unconnected somehow? Maybe I should scratch that out.   
No, I will keep it. I hope it amuses you. It may make you laugh to see what a silly fool I am. What kind of fool proposes marriage to courtesans? Not you, Georgiana, of course.  
But children arriving will be a while from now. I am trying to make everything comfortable for you. It will be hard leaving your family and the pets you mentioned in your last letter. When you and your mother arrive here, you must try some tea. Though you might as well enjoy some vodka as well.  
Speaking of vodka, Peter had too much last night and spent the morning chapel services vomiting his stomach out…

A jolt from the carriage made both of you leap in your seats. It was no use re-reading the thing for the tenth time for amusement on a long trip. You put the letter away in your reticule.  
Enough time had passed between that fateful dinner. Now here you were, on the road, on your way to the court of Peter.  
“Did you hear me? Do you like the sound of Countess Y/F/N Dymov?” she repeated louder, leaning forward.  
“Yes,” you agreed obediently.   
Your mother bit her lip hesitantly. There was a pause.  
“Y/N, you are doing a very brave thing. You’re going to help all of us and a lot of people…I thank you for it,” she said.  
Her eyes blinked and you could see a few tiny tears up there.  
“At least I’m not marrying the emperor,” you huffed, “the title alone wouldn’t be worth it.”  
She rolled her eyes and scoffed.   
“Your grandmother said if you got the Emperor, it would be a nicer ceremony. It would be a grander ceremony, but a miserable marriage after…though no wedding will be as nice as your brothers,” she recalled.   
Both of you smiled at the memory. Your mother even set down the novel in her hands to talk to you more.  
“He married someone he loves. Now they’re happy together…” you commented.  
The past weeks whirled by without the time to savor your last time at home.  
First, there was a whole wedding to set and celebrate for your brother, then there was studying all the etiquette, customs, and everything you would need for a life in Russia. As well as planning about your own day. A day crawling up that made you shiver slightly at the thought.  
But remembering your brother’s childish grin when his bride walked down to greet meet him at the altar, the shivers ceased. How they seemed to fly when they danced with each other. How even their cake tasted sweeter. The fragrance of their flower crowns was still in your nose.   
If only your day could be as nice. No alliance. No pressure to go and bind yourself. Just nice.  
“It was a wonderful day. She looked very pretty in your dress…do you think the dress we chose will suit the Russian court?” you asked.  
Your mother nodded, eyes sparkling at the thought.  
“Oh yes, we had to ask every question, but so help me you would at least have a dress you liked! You looked radiant in it- all of the court will love the look of it!” she added.  
“It’s very…very elaborate. And heavy. I bet it’s the reason this carriage is about to trip over,” you jested.   
You briefly took off your glove to scratch your own neck from a small itch.  
“Well, when in Rome…” she said, shrugging.  
Having a ceremony with a special dress was one thing, the groom was something else entirely. But what of your future husband, Grigor?  
Before you could ask about your mother’s analysis of him, there was a sudden whistle from the driver.  
Both of you leaned out and stared at the window. The large grey palace was popping in view, distant, but there. Tall, grey, and grand.  
Breath hitched, you tried to stare at another thing, a bird flying by or the dirt on the road. But there it was. And your eyes were fixed, like a martyr’s gaze on the burning stake before sainthood.  
The place you had to live, where you had to sacrifice your body, autonomy, and soul to a man you only knew for a few days.  
Servants rushed in to carry your luggage. You and your mother glanced at each other. Her eyes turned soft and she took your hand and squeezed it as the guards opened the doors and a footman led you up the grand stairs into the throne room.  
One opened a chest and your mother pulled out a green portfolio from it, pressing it to her heart.  
There was a long hall leading to a sole chair bedecked in gold. The room was dark but the sun filtered through windows on the left. Removing your coat and handing it to a servant, you could feel their eyes. Analyzing you in your deep blue dress with white lace on the front tied in a dark blue bow on the chest.   
Before the throne, walking out from their peeping, was a line waiting for you was a group of various men as different as a kaleidoscope. One was shorter, dark-haired, and bespectacled. One was a priest with a long beard. But in the center was Emperor Peter and by his side, Count Grigor Dymov in a grey, curled wig.  
Walking slowly, you curtsied and kissed Peter’s hand and your mother copied the movement.  
“Your highness, thank you for letting me arrive here and for inviting my mother as a chaperone,” you greeted politely.  
From a green portfolio, your mother pulled out a starched parchment and walked to the priest.  
“Here is a signed paper from our physician, proving Y/N’s chastity for the marriage. Additionally, I will chaperone her until the ceremony,” she announced proudly.  
He looked down, head tilted, but leaning to read it, nodded his head.  
Both of you let out a sigh of relief. As awkward as the examination was, it was still a hundred times better with a family doctor then without warning by a stranger.  
“Well, cangratu-fucking-lations Grigor. Here is the lady who’s going to suck you cock for life in a week! Go on, greet her!” he half-yelled.  
You could feel your mother tense at the vulgarity and wished to disappear.  
The hands in front of Grigor that were folded tightened slightly as you walked up to each other, with a slight bow.  
He then took your hand, as you placed yours, you could see your own palm tremble a bit. He leaned down to kiss it.  
“Miss Y/L/N, did you travel well?” he asked.  
“It was long but nice. Lots of forests.” You answered shyly.  
He relaxed a little and gave you a small smile. Though part of you felt angry. What if it was the cock sucking comment he was thinking of?  
It dropped at you still being serious.  
“Well, that’s done. And I’m bored. I’m hungry and want some oysters, goodbye!” the emperor suddenly said, trailing away with the priest and other men behind him like ducklings.  
Grigor offered his arm and you accepted it, breath hitching at how close he felt.  
“Count Dymov, thank you for the…the welcome. Though look at this place! It’s magnificent!” your mother praised, looking at the details.  
He walked slowly out of the room with your mother by your side, admiring the tall windows, wooden walls, and countless paintings and decorations. Courtiers in wigs and wide skirts floated by you like butterflies.  
“I was thinking I would show you both my apartment, since it’s where we’ll be living soon, Lady Y/L/N. The palace is huge enough as it is!” Grigor answered, turning to your mother.   
“Unless you want a tour of all that!” he added on, gesturing to the bits of gold that glowed in the sunlight.   
“It would be nice to see where she’ll be living,” your mother replied.  
It was too enticing.  
“The apartment is fine,” you finalized, looking up at his eyes.   
It had been a while but you forgot or perhaps never noticed the color. They were the color of the sea. And quite beautiful.  
“Besides, I already have a gift for you and it couldn’t wait for after the wedding!” he announced, with an impish grin.  
“A gift?” you gasped.  
“I’d like us to at least be friends, Y/n,”  
“Of course, Grigor.”  
After a ten-minute walk with chit chat mostly between your mother and Grigor, you arrived at the apartment. He paused slightly before the dark doors and knocked a few times, a voice replied from within.  
Your heart leaped at all the red- red walls, red chairs, red furniture, a beautiful gold bathtub, and a large red bed that made your stomach flip and turn warm.  
“In about a week, this will be your home…but, the-ah- the gift!” he said, jumping with his eyebrows near the top of his wigged head.  
An old man dressed like a servant walked from a corner. Grigor rushed there, gesturing wildly with his arms for him to walk forward. For a minute, the man was under Grigor’s shadow and his large back blocked your view.   
As he turned, in his hands was a tiny Pomeranian puppy with brown fur.   
Gasping alongside your mother, you let out squeals of delight on instinct. You fell in love at once. It barked and smiled when it saw you. You cooed and even your mother went over to stroke its fur. Its earthy smell came up to your nose and it licked your fingers. Grigor handed the puppy for you to hold, light and warm and smelling of earth. The puppy smiled and licked your nose in greeting and you giggled.  
“Seems like she knows her mistress already!” Grigor commented, with a small laugh in his voice.  
“I know they will expect us to, uh, have children someday and we might as well practice caring for a living thing. And I did not want you to be here and feel completely alone. Like you told me.”  
The puppy looks up at you and tilts its head. Once you set it down, it happily runs around the apartment, leaping sometimes mid-way and then pausing to sniff every piece of furniture. It looks at you, chippering happily, the stub of a tail wagging wildly.  
“Grigor, she, she…” you mumbled, close to tears. “She’s adorable! I’ve never had such a gift before!”  
“It will be work, of course. And she’ll get big and eat and tear things. But Arkady knows dogs and is willing to help us.”  
“Yes, of course…thank you!”  
Overjoyed, you walked over to him, stood on your toes, and kiss his cheek.  
It was a little out of decorum. You had hardly seen him. But you were overjoyed, and it was too kind. He blushed bright pink at the feeling of your lips and smiled.  
“Y/N…you're very welcome! Oh! I forgot! I also have…have these now…”  
Out of his pocket were two small bands, bronze-colored.   
“Our engagement rings… until we’re official.”  
Breathing in deep, you accepted the ring and slid it onto your finger. It was only a little tight. The puppy in your arms sniffed it and then tried to lightly chew on it.  
___-------------------------------------------------------------------  
The palace tour nearly broke your jaw from how much you dropped it. You kept a leash with the small Pomeranian pup by your side, trotting happily and sniffing everything. If it were not for all the gold and countless portraits, plants, boards, and displays and details in every crack of the wall, your new pet would have distracted you.  
How on earth can anyone manage to walk through this? You thought. You had not even reached the gardens yet!  
Suddenly, there was a yelp and the thunder of boots.   
Peter walked forward with his usual party of men, but by his side was a woman who seemed surprisingly young despite her tall height. She was extremely pale and had light blonde hair up in a bun with a few curls falling out and wore a lovely sky-blue gown.  
“Ah, Grigor! Have another meeting, need you there! Now! It’s going to be fucking dull without you!” he ordered.  
With a shrug, he bowed and walked away with Peter, but the young woman stayed behind. She waited until he was gone and then turned to you.  
“He should have been there an hour ago, people were discussing trade forever and he should have been there to help,” She sighed.  
Handing the leash to your mother, both of you dipped in a greeting curtsy.  
“Pardon me, but I’m new here. I don’t know what the Emperor’s schedule is like…I don’t know what anything is like,” you confessed.  
She raised an eyebrow and blinked a few times. Suddenly a shorter woman with sharp cheekbones and her hair up into a small coif ran up by the blonde woman’s side. A maid.  
Looking at you both, the servant seemed to give meaning to the phrase “if looks could kill.”  
She scolded, “do you realize who you’re talking to! This is her grace, the Empress! At least be polite!”  
Panic flooded your chest and you dipped down to a lower, rushed curtsy.  
“Your grace-I’m so sorry! Forgive me! Please!” you blubbered. “I didn’t know who you were!”  
“It’s all right! Just a mistake!” she laughed.   
Her hands moved forward, and she gestured you up.  
“What is your name?” she asked kindly.  
You introduced yourself, only looking at the end of Catherine’s blue skirt, shades lighter than your own.  
“You’re Lady Y/L/N, the future Countess Dymov!”  
“Yes, I am and…your grace, I am so sorry for all the trouble that happened at my house. I tried to resolve but…here I am,” you explained.  
She gave a sideways glare to where Peter walked off and turned to you, “it isn’t your fault at all…my husband is… well, you understand.”  
“I completely understand!” you blurted with a scoff in your throat.  
Her frozen, pale stiffness melted away. She smiled genuinely.  
“Empress Catherine, what is it like for women here? I haven’t heard much…”  
“Well, there are…tea parties. Ball throwings. Things like that… But…Lady Y/L/N…”  
She leaned closer, speaking quietly.  
“I was like you, once. Sent to be married. New to this place. I would hesitate to head there if you are new…things are done differently and the ladies here are if I must be honest, not nice to newcomers.”  
“Alright!”  
You glanced at your mother, whose brow furrowed with worry at the words.  
“But I shall help you. You have to meet them eventually. Just be careful. Though you aren’t me, you might have hope. They have joy in teasing me since they know I outrank them…if you need help, you may call on me.” She offered, her words rushing at the sudden idea.  
“Oh your highness, it’s an honor!” you cried.  
“From one foreign bride to another!” she commented before saying goodbye and twirling off. The maid gave a look at the puppy with wistfulness, and then followed the empress.  
But as you headed back, having a few moments of rest on a seat near a window.  
“Our chambers are not far, I’ll be there to see if our things are ready!” she announced.  
You nodded, giving a last happy pet your puppy and stared as your mother sauntered away.  
Suddenly, you heard the click of heels.  
“You’re his fiancée, are you?”   
You turned to see a pale woman with beautiful dark curls on her head. She wore an elaborate, dusty red dress. Her slight frown was not welcoming.  
“I am engaged to…to Count Dymov, if that’s what you’re asking,” you answered, getting up.  
“I…I thought,” she mused.  
“Pardon me, I don’t even know your name…” you said.  
“You can call me Georgiana.”  
Oh my god…  
“Lady Georgiana, I’m Lady Y/L/N,” you replied.  
She looked at you, analyzing everything. Your chin dipped low and you folded your hands in front of you, frozen in place. Part of you wanted to run away.  
“Miss Georgiana is there anything you want from me?” you asked.  
Her lips went tight.  
“I just thought that Grigor loved me…but he brings over some unknown woman from nowhere!” she spat.  
You remembered what he said about their history. And her decision. Your mind blanked with Catherine’s warning, what could you even say.  
“He didn’t ask me to marry him. It’s to secure an alliance with Russia.” You informed her plainly.  
Getting a little bolder, you looked back at her unamused face.  
“Just know, however, your marriage goes, it’s me he really loves and…”  
She paused. Then smiled.  
“And I’ve fucked him too.”  
She stuck her nose in the air as your mouth opened a little in shock.  
“That’s how mad he is for me. I know every trick that will keep him returning to me. You’ll just pop out an heir for the Dymov’s and then he’ll be done with you.”  
Your face turned hot and your breath felt short.  
“Why…why are you telling me this?” you asked quietly.  
“Because we all know I am the one he loves and will always love. And I know how to please him in every way,” she threatened, walking closer.  
“As sure as you please the Emperor,” you retorted boldly.  
Georgiana stopped, her eyes widening. Her face screwed up. Though her head nodded a little in slight acknowledgment.  
“Georgiana, I don’t want us to be enemies,” you pleaded.  
“I don’t want you to make him miserable. You may think you know him: he seems like a nice man, but he is only two steps away from Peter. He loves parties, drinking, fun, revelry, and all things wild; are you ready to have that as your husband?”  
“I didn’t even choose this match. I don’t even love him- I only met him a month ago! And he offered you his hand and you couldn’t accept it! I did not have a say in the matter to be with him! Live with your choice and I’ll live with one that wasn’t even mine!” you yelled, your cheeks feeling hot.  
Her nostrils flared and she walked away, flouncing like a peacock.   
Sinking back onto the seat, you cursed your temper and tongue for getting the best of you.   
How could you make peace of this conundrum? Even if the Empress liked you, it seemed no one else at court would now. Especially knowing the kind man who gifted you a dog spent his nights in wildness…and maybe in Georgiana’s arms.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are finally married to Count Grigor Dymov. But you are worried about everything that will happen today and tonight...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t’s finally here! Yay for wedding fics! For a few notes, I based the wedding ceremony from Russian Orthodox practices (since that is the religion obviously in the show of the court) so if I get something wrong about anything sacred, please drag me gently. Second, the gift mentioned in the middle part is, fun fact! An actual historical practice between couples! (I just thought it would enhance the story). And third, I decided not to include a smut scene for those reading this fic underage...that part will be worked on and published separately. Fourth, I am thrilled and overwhelmed with all of the love shown for this miniseries. I am having a ball writing it! Enjoy!
> 
> Edit: Accidentally didn't copy the first part I wrote. Oops. So I fixed it!

Russian Wedding ceremonies were making your head turn. Already there were so many things to do you wondered if you could remember them by tomorrow. And this was the only rehearsal you had.  
The tall priest, who you found out was called Archie, stood before you both. He practiced speaking a monotone blessing and made the sign of the cross over you.   
“Next, you’ll be given candles…” he advised, waving his hands out.  
Two men walked by to hand you both a candle (“for the ceremony, they will be lit, but they aren’t. So just be careful.”) You recognized that Arkady gave Grigor his candle and the bespectacled man you have seen greeting you when you entered handed you yours.  
“Thank you…uhm…sorry, I’ve seen you around, but…” you asked.  
“Count Orlo, Lady Y/L/N”, he greeted, with a polite nod.

“Thank you Orlo,” you muttered.  
“Of course! Well, welcome to Russia! If you need any-”  
Archie glared at Orlo icily until he scurried away, head ducked in embarrassment.  
“Now let us continue…”  
He said a line of scripture in a way that seemed mystical, close to ecstasy, his eyes closed and hands open to the sky. After a while, the droning lost its magic pull and became dull.  
You and Grigor glanced at each other, making sure Archie wasn’t able to notice in all his holiness.  
“We have to practice the puppy after this- would you like to see?” you whispered.  
“I’d take watching paint dry over this, of course, I want to see!” Grigor replied.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“Just give her a bit of chicken,” Count Arkady advised.  
You and Grigor nodded. You leaned down to stroke the fur of your little gift. She had trotted over cheerfully when either your or Grigor said “come,” prancing as if she was the one who owned the little apartment you and your mother were staying in. Arkady handed a gold bowl of cold, roast chicken meat that you tossed to the puppy every time she did as you said. Your mother sat in a corner, silently watching everything, but present to make sure nothing inappropriate was going on.  
“Very good…now, what is your little one’s name again? I can never remember,” he asked, politely ducking his head to sneeze into a handkerchief.  
The puppy looked up at you and smiled.  
“I’m calling her Sonya. It’s the Russian version of Sophie, our Empress's old name. And she was the first friend I met here. Besides, it’s a Russian name and she’s a Russian dog,” you explained.  
“Very well, Sonya- sit!” Arkady ordered, his handkerchief falling delicately from his free hand.  
He held up a small bite of roast chicken clear enough where she could see it. She sat again. He handed it over to you and you tossed it to the floor. Wagging her tail, she ate it up.  
“Good girl, Sonya! Good girl!” you praised.  
So far Sonya had not caused too much trouble. The servant for Grigor had often taken her out to do business when she needed it. She did bark, chew on everything, and leave droppings on the floor sometimes. But the first night in your apartments, you had trouble sleeping in this strange new place. Little Sonya hopped up on the bed and curled up next to you as you laid awake. Her warmth and licking kisses on your face were welcome when your anxious mind was trying to make you awake. And soon you slept with her little body nestled on top of your stomach.  
“Keep this up, and soon you will have a trained dog. The secret is to reward them every time they’re good and be careful with discipline,” Arkady advised.  
Grigor nodded. He leaned down to pick up the Sonya and scratch her head. You could not help but notice that the party man Georgiana warned about had a kind smile to the little animal. Maybe she was exaggerating to scare you.  
Arkady walked over to where a serf held up a laundry basket and got rid of his handkerchief.  
“She hasn’t been a bother, I hope,” Grigor turned to ask, seeing how your teacher was distracted.  
“You’ll soon find out…I’m joking, she has been fine. Energetic, but fine. Nothing out of normal for a puppy,” You answered.  
Arkady took it to the next serf, advising him on kinds of ways it should be cooked for the nobilities’ dogs next time. The serf sighed and nodded before leaving. He turned around gracefully, clapping his hands, and rubbing them loudly.  
“How are you both feeling!? You do know what is happening tomorrow…” he teased.  
You could not forget. And you wanted to. The wedding was already tomorrow.  
“Yes, well…we’ve already rehearsed the ceremony this morning and…we’ll…we’ll be ready!” Grigor said.  
“The candles? The crown? Hopefully, you are prepared to kiss in front of all of the court, they’ll ask for that! My Tatyana and I kissed fifty times at ours!” Arkady added sheepishly.  
You put your hand to your face to hide it in embarrassment. The days past mostly consisted of eating at small dinners and teas at least with you, sometimes Grigor, and your mother or walking through the gardens with some small talk between the three of you. His arm was offered for you to hold when you walked together. But that was the most touching you both had done. Those and the chaste, formal kisses on the cheek or hand.  
“We’ll be ready, for everything,” Grigor answered.  
He went over to look at you, eyebrows furrowed in slight worry at your silence. You felt slight dizziness from how soon everything would be  
Arkady dismissed himself and left, and your mother got up from her seat in the corner to see him out. You turned to Grigor, face feeling warm.  
“Are we ready to…to kiss in front of everyone? Perhaps we can make it work…”  
Although you bit the inside of your cheek and folded your hands, eyes darting from the floor to his face and back again.  
“I…I don’t think I am…” he said. “It’s been, uh, a little while.”  
He was careful to not mention or talk about Georgiana unless prompted and you thanked your stars for that. It felt like being a mouse under the eye of a hungry hawk with her walking by in corridors.  
“I know we can make this work, at least for everyone we know and their sakes,” you said. “Maybe we can…practice. At least for the ceremony.”  
As your mother turned around to see you both chatting, Sonya went up to her, to greet her with a bark and a wag of her curling tail. Grigor stepped forward to her.  
“Lady Y/L/N, can I have your consent to kiss Y/F/N? I’d like to do it before dinner, so I don’t reek of onions,” he offered.  
Your mother looked at you both, then nodded.  
“Alright, I don’t see why not. But no tongues.”  
You turned to him, a little unsure of what to do. Your mother and Sonya watching closely.  
“I don’t know what to do with my arms,” you confess.  
He took both of your hands.  
“We can just hold hands for now…” he advised.  
“Then you have to lean forward, right?” you asked.  
“Right.”  
Leaning your face forward, you could make out the dust of freckles across his nose. He paused a little. You kept still. Then looking at each other’s eyes, he gave you a slight nod and both of you went in for a peck on the lips. It was so quick, so light, it was like gulping air.  
Your hands immediately relaxed and let go. A rush of exhaling air left both of you.  
“Alright, would you like me to ring for tea? After dinner, you both cannot see each other until after the ceremony,” your mother offered.  
She scooped the puppy in her arms and carried her over one shoulder.  
“That…that sounds nice,” he added.  
“Shouldn’t you be with the Emperor? Weren’t you going to drink with him?” you ask.  
“He can wait. Delementov might be with him.”  
Once the tea set arrived and all of you had a sip, you all began to talk, and not just about what the weather was like. He made jokes and listened to your mother. He broke off part of a plain biscuit to feed it to Sonya. She even hopped up to the couch and slept beside him as he stroked her fur.  
“Well, tomorrow’s the big day, I bet you’re tired of hearing that.” Your mother sighed, setting down her empty plate.  
“But…I’m still jittery, I have to say,” you said, taking the last sip of your sweet tea.  
Suddenly you looked at Grigor and he took his hand and wrapped it around yours. It wasn’t in the sweaty awkwardness of having to practice kissing, but it was dry, soft, and comforting.  
“I’m jittery, too, I guess. But…if it helps Russia, we’ll do it,” he added. “Y/F/N is a brave woman to do this, and she has a gentle soul, the way I’ve seen her with little Sonya. I could do worse.”  
Smiling lightly at him, you muttered thanks. His hands' heat was slowly becoming comforting. The shots of adrenaline from his touch were slowing down through you.  
“And you Grigor…you’ll do, I guess,” you responded quietly.  
The clock struck for the late afternoon. Grigor looked at it with wide eyes.  
“Oh shi- no. We have a meeting with Archie about church laws and Peter wants me there until dinner. Can I leave?” he asked.  
A part of you stifled a laugh from the suppressed swearing. At this point, you were almost desensitized to it in the Russian court.  
Your mother nodded, “you may.”  
“And can I kiss your daughter one last time? I just want to be ready for the ceremony?” he asked in a hurry.  
She nodded again, raising an eyebrow revealing her actual thoughts.  
He leaned down and kissed you, putting in a little bit of pressure. And something…different. It did not feel like a polite kiss or a practice kiss. It felt like a lover’s kiss. You closed your eyes, feeling it linger for just a bit. Then finally, he let go and said his farewells, leaving with a slight hop in his step.  
It was as if a ghost on your lips was still there as he walked away. It was the nicest kiss you have had so far in your life.  
Even before you went to bed to try to sleep before the big day with your mother in the other room, you found yourself tracing where it was.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The next day, the hours dragged on throughout. You saw only your mother since the wedding would be in the early evening. You found yourself staring at the clock a lot, sweating with each tick of the hands. You wished you could run to Grigor and just vent about your worry, but your mother told you it was always bad luck before the ceremony.  
And a marriage like this could use a little less bad luck you thought.  
By the time Mariol arrived with the ribbons and decorations to start doing your hair.  
“I’m here, the Empresses treat!” she announced, but waving her hands and shrugging as if it was the same task as sweeping.  
“Oh, oh thank you! How splendid!” your mother said, taking your hand.  
Mariol turned over and opened a wooden box she had brought full of feathers, pearls, and other little accessories.  
“Want a bow?” she asked.  
“Not for me,” you refused.  
Selecting a white ribbon, you clicked your tongue for Sonya to trot to you. Leaning down, you tied it lightly around her neck with a bow in the back.  
“She has to look her best too…”  
“But she’s not the bride. Come on, Y/N…it is time we fix your hair. Not going to have walk down looking like a pigsty.”  
All the twirls, tucks, and pins in the world managed to be shoved in your head by the time you were through. You wanted to groan, but when Mariol heard Sonya’s yapping, her pulling in became gentler and her head turned.  
“There you go! And for a bit of makeup…”  
“Can I hold Sonya as you do it?” you asked, turning from the vanity.  
Mariol’s eyes went wide.  
“Wha-yes! Please!”  
Amidst the small dabbing of rouge, she cooed in a high voice at the little puppy, sniffing your face curiously. Your mother sat in the back, admiring Mariol’s work and nodding in admiration, with a little compliment here or there.  
But you could hardly breathe your response to the face you saw in the mirror when there was a knock on the door.  
Sonya leaped from your lap and trailed Mariol as she opened the door.  
“Hello Y/N!” your father announced, putting away his tri-cornered hat.  
With somewhat of a scream you and your mother both ran up to embrace him. Behind him walked in your brother in a nice emerald suit and his new wife in a pretty golden dress.  
You called their names and embraced all of them, fighting the urge to cry.  
“What…what are you doing here? I didn’t know I would even see any of you again!” you asked.  
“We managed to receive lodging near…we didn’t want to miss your wedding!” your brother said, leaning in for another hug.  
Sonya yipped and jumped before your sister’s wife. She leaned down and petted her.  
“Oh, when did you get this precious thing?” she asked.  
You put the puppy into your arms and put it up to Sonya to show her.  
“She was a gift from Grigor,” you explain.  
“Your…your fiancée?” your brother asked, eyebrows raised up.  
“Yes! He…he’s nothing like…like you know who. He’s a good man. In spite of all of this…” you explained, getting a little dizzy at the thought of being bound to him until death in an hour.  
“But, what of the emperor? He approved?” your mother asked  
“I spoke with him yesterday and asked to attend, at least I wanted to walk you down, and he agreed,” he answered. He walked over to Sonya to feel the top of her head as well.  
“We didn’t want to miss it either,” your brother chimed in.  
“Well, we’re about to dress her. So, the men better head out. The ceremony is in an hour!” Mariol interrupted, she brushed her arms to shoo your father and brother away  
Your mother leaned into your father.  
“This palace is the size of the moon-you don’t know the way to the chapel!” she retorted she placed her hands on her hip.  
She was wearing a bluish-green dress with only a few embellishments of lace here and there, along with a large lace fan. You had to admire her. For a woman who never insisted she was beautiful and would call herself the reverse, this look proved the thought wrong.  
“I thought I’d follow you! Just let me give her away! Please!”  
She batted him lightly and shooed the men away.  
With a gulp you let Mariol remove the buttons of your light day dress and set it away. With stays tied on and panniers attached, only the dress needed to be put on now. Then the gown waiting in your chest met its long-awaited fate.  
She slipped it over your head. After a few touches to your already done makeup and hair, a few minutes passed in awed quietness. Your father and brother walked back in, astonished. Giving one of a dozen “you’re beautiful” compliments until you found yourself believing them too. They noted how elaborate the lace went along the opening of the skirt. That there were a few small pearls and jewels in the skirt here and there, especially with your pearl necklace, earrings, and a wedding veil attached to the top of your head. Mariol let the long lines of the veil fall over your face.  
“You’re absolutely stunning, Y/N. No matter what happens after this, know that I love you,” your mother said, embracing you one last time.  
It warmed your heart. A little. Even though the nerves still shot up your arms.  
The hour struck six o clock. The door opened outside to see all of the court looking at you.  
There were a few murmurs of appreciation. You chose a nice white with faint hints of silver in a shade that was flattering to your skin. Little details-barely beads, but shinier- sparkled in the light. (you heard that Russian ladies were elaborate in dress and your visit and observations here were proven right).  
Mother walking forward, you took your father's arm and you headed through the palace. Your brother and his wife walked behind, walking Sonya on a small leash. Your view of the palace was blocked a little bit and you were glad of the guidance of your parents. Eyes and countless wigs turned as you both walked past.  
At last, you reached the chapel doors, full of gold and with saints gently looking down before you. There standing was Grigor and Emperor Peter  
He wore a wig that you could still smell the powder from. His coat was richly colored in dark blue. He looked very striking and he turned to face you. There was a slight smile and he blinked rapidly.  
Your father handed you to Grigor, and you took his hand. You could smell the sweat and feel it on your own palms. You both took one step into the chapel and paused as you saw the elaborate paintings and statues that covered the walls, crucifixes staring down between rows where even more courtiers sat to watch. You recognized Catherine and Georgiana from a brief glimpse. But you forced your eyes to stay on the black robes and beard of Archie.  
Orlo and Arkady scurried forward with now lit candles. You nodded a thank you to Orlo who nodded back. You were both given lighted candles and multiple prayers were said before and several bits of scripture. Then came the time to share the cup. Grigor motioned to the priest and he lifted your veil gently.  
You looked up at him with…well, you did not know. And you could not describe the way he looked at you. It was soft, sweet, with reverence. Your eyes were beginning to water a little bit. But why were you crying? Your heart was hammering against your ribs, and everything seemed like a dream.  
You both shared a cup of dry communal wine, and then Archie took a long golden piece of cloth, wrapping it around your joined hands.  
Taking in a deep breath, Grigor began the vows, but he looked right at your eyes.  
“I take you as my wife to be with you always-in wealth and in poverty, in disease and in health, in happiness and in grief, from this day until death separates us.”  
He seemed like he meant it. It took you aback. You almost forgot your own vows but repeated them, albeit in a soft, shaky voice.  
The vows said Arkady and Orlo walked forward with two gold crowns that were placed on your heads in front of everyone watching. You both walked around the area of the altar in a circle. The cloth still tied with your hands together. Grigor and you took slow, careful steps.  
Once the cloth was removed you were both given rings placed on each other’s fingers. but Grigor’s hands were gentle as he slipped the band into your finger. A tiny diamond sparkled in its center.  
Archie read a last piece of scripture- a long and extremely dry one for a wedding. Breathing in a bit, you turned your head to look up at Grigor. His eyes shining and his mouth a little open.  
He turned to look back at you and gave you another smile. A beautiful one. And this time you smiled back. For a few seconds, you forgot the dreaded day you both signed that contract a month ago.  
A final benediction was placed, and Archie finished. He made the sign of the cross over both of you and then turned to the crowd watching.  
“Welcome to our court, the Count and Countess Dymov. Count Dymov, you may kiss the bride.”  
As practiced, you both tilted your heads, leaned forward, and kissed. But not flat and as in a performance. There was a slight spark to it and almost felt his free hand wander to your back to press you tighter.  
It was done. Your family’s future and the alliance were safe. Part of you let out a small breath and looked over to your family with a knowing look.  
You heaved out a breath until you felt Grigor nudge you and you both walked out. There was uproarious applause. The emperor was smug but Catherine beside him looked genuinely happy. She was dressed in a light yellow that made her seem a flower amongst all these over the top wigs and laces. Your brother and his wife clapped with the sweetest smiles on their faces. But the same could not be said of Georgiana, dressed in deep orange with the mark of a heart on her cheek and giving you a glare every time your eyes accidentally wandered to hers.  
Both of you walked through the halls, hand in hand, among more applause and a few tossing of flower petals. You turned and he kissed your lips lightly.  
“I’m not an eloquent man but you look like a fucking snowdrop with all this gold in the palace,” he whispered.  
You stuttered, still grasping his hand, “th-thank you. You look very handsome as well.”  
He let out a little smile as you both walked to a smaller room. A few trusted courtiers put a piece of parchment on a desk before you two. Both of you signed the marriage contract and waited for a serf to summon you to the dining room where the celebration would commence along with the dinner.  
As the contract was rolled up by an old man as round as a peach (it may have been Delementov, Grigor taught you so many names it was hard to remember) and brought away, both of you were alone for a few minutes. There was an odd silence, then you turned to him.  
“Grigor, I know you have had your heart broken recently and…I want to tell you, I’ll try to be a good wife to you. As possible. I’ll try to be understanding and I… won’t hurt you. Because I know how hard being hurt for you was. I might make mistakes, but I don’t want to hurt you,” you confided.  
He shook his head a little.  
“I don’t want to hurt you either…”  
But speaking of hurt, there was the unspoken ghost in all this wedding talk that needed to be addressed. The one event you secretly dreaded the most. Clutching his arm and turning to him, you tried to think of a way to say it now that you were alone.  
“Grigor…” you began, “Now we’re alone, we can talk. For…for uh, tonight, uhm…uh, I…”  
You did not get to finish before a serf ran in. Without warning, he half pushed the both of you out. The Emperor and what seemed half of the court was seated in the dining room. There was a flurry of huzzahs.  
Emperor Peter jumped over the table, knocking over plates and silverware. You leaned out of the way of his flurrying and grabbed Grigor by the shoulder, with a pat on him. You took your seat close to the front and he made his way to your side. Peter leaned back in his chair which was always in the center. No matter what event was going on.  
“Well, Grigor- you got yourself a girl at last! hope she gets every penny worth from you tonight!” he bellowed.  
“Every penny worth?” you repeated.  
He looked at you with a toothy smile and gulped down half of his wine.  
“Oh, you should know! The Morgengabe! The Morning’s gift!” he cheered.  
A serf poured you water and wine separately, to begin with, and a few musicians started playing, getting louder and louder.  
“That what?” you asked over them.  
“The morning, Gift. It's a German idea. Grigor, your wife is a bit of a dolt. At least her tits are decent,” he said.  
“What’s the Morning’s gift?” you questioned.  
Food began to be served on your plate, but your appetite was starting to decrease. You had a terrible guess at what it referred to. And you had to be sure it was right.  
“It’s…uhm…” Grigor began, then he took a deep breath and turned to you, speaking so that you could understand every word.  
“After we signed the contract when we were betrothed, there was a word between me, Peter, and your father. The dowry itself was covered. You’re not entering this union as a pauper and should you become a widow, you will have financial protection but…we all had to be sure the marriage was…”  
He bit his lips, took in a breath, and continued.  
“I gave over some money from your father. That money will be given to you the morning after the marriage is…uh, consummated. That way the alliance will be totally secure. Your family and Peter will know you weren’t just being thrown into a sham marriage that would make the contract weak. If it wasn’t complete, the alliance wouldn’t go through.”  
“And the sooner the better!” Peter added, sticking his head between the two of you.  
He looked at you and wiggled his eyebrows bawdily with a swirl of his goblet.  
“I may just, you know- destroy your home country and chop off your family’s heads just for fun tomorrow because you haven’t fucked your husband!”  
He leaned down to see your shocked expression and laughed.  
“Well, money and a large cock, you have a lot to look forward to! Huzzah! Now, where’s the vodka?”  
As he gestured serfs forth to pour vodka into his goblet, you looked over at Grigor.  
He took your hand and squeezed it.  
“That’s the way it is?” You sighed.  
“That’s the way it is here.” He confirmed, noting the worry on your face.  
More guests came in. By the dozens. You could hardly even eat a bite or sip some wine or water because they kept wanting to talk to you. You were gladdened by your family and the few you were familiar with.  
Then Orlo walked forward. Under his arms were a few books.  
“Oh, here he comes again!” Grigor dismissed, rolling his eyes.  
You lightly touched his arm, “no, let him speak!”  
Orlo gave a slight bow in greeting.  
“Why, hello there, Count and Countess Dymov! I’m here because I just wanted to give you a wedding gift…can you read, Countess?”  
“I can,” you confirmed.  
He handed you each two books.  
“It’s mythologies, fairy tales…childish things. But since you are new here, you might find it entertaining to learn a little bit more about our culture. And so might Grigor.”  
Grigor flipped through a few pages. He rested on one of a young girl walking through a forest with a branch that had a skull on top lit with fire.  
“Well, why read about an adventure when you can live it!” Grigor explained.  
But you took the books gently and smiled at him.  
“That’s very generous of you, Count Orlo! I’m sure my husband…” it was a new word with a taste as strange as their wine… “he would rather I read these to him for his entertainment than annoy him all day,” you teased, leaning over to look at the pictures as well.  
“No, I don’t think you could! You’re not the type to annoy, Y/N” he replied. He smiled as he accepted a glass of vodka.  
He nudged you and then hissed, “this is our tradition- watch!”  
He stood up but took your hand to stand up with you. Heads turned and the noise was softened.  
“To my new wife! And to my marriage! Huzzah!”  
They all yelled “huzzah” back and you felt as if you could glow.  
But he downed his vodka and threw his glass on the floor in a swift throw. The other members of the court followed suit. There was a splatter of shattering glass like that of hail drops.  
Occasionally there were yelps for a kiss. As if being actors on cue, you and Grigor would peck each other's lips performatively to their cheers. But not as many as Arkady said would happen.  
As your family walked forward to hand you your dog, they had to tiptoe past broken glass as carefully as possible with lifted skirts and on their toes. Empress Catherine even walked from by her husband's side to offer you congrats.  
“You look very lovely and the ceremony was simple…”  
“Oh, we only had a week to…”  
“Oh no! I love simple ceremonies! Simple everything! They just mean more! And…are those books?”  
“Yes, a wedding present from Orlo!” you nodded.  
Both of you looked over the pages and stories, Catherine filling in with what she knew as you took bites of your dinner with relief. Serfs scurried with brooms to clean up the broken glass. A few dances were thrown and mingling was allowed. Knowing it was safe, you put Sonya in your arms and walked around.  
Soon she barked and leaned forward, jumping out. She scurried, catching a bit of a dusky orange dress and chewing it with such passion, she shook it back and forth in her mouth with joy.  
“Stop that!” the dress owner cried.  
“Hey!” you cried, but right as you leaned down to stop her you recognized whose it was.  
Georgiana looked as if she could see red as she analyzed you. Sonya panted happily in your arms, but you leaned away from her as if to shield the creature from anything the Emperor’s mistress might do.  
There was a solo violin striking up (Peter attempted to play).  
“Well, look at you!” she said with a huff. She seemed only somewhat sad.  
“Mademoiselle,” you acknowledged head down in a curtsy. “Please, do not think me your enemy.”  
“I’m not here. You are no threat to me.”  
“No, how could I be? You are only our beloved Emperor's favorite. You hold so much prestige here. The ladies all prattle on how envious they are of you. I’ve heard them. I honor you, tremendously.” You started.  
She looked at you straight in your eyes, her expression was unchanged from your words.  
“You’re sweet. But so were your wedding cakes. And what do people with cakes? They chew them up into tiny pieces until they spit it out or ingest it until it’s nothing,” she spat.  
“If you hurt me or my dog or my family, I will tell my husband about it. I am under the protection of the Dymov house.”  
“And I am under the protection of the Emperor.” She replied.  
The violin picked up and the Emperor called for a dance.  
“Forget it. Let’s move past being like this. I’m not in love with Grigor. I’m only following my family’s orders.”  
“That’s not what I see when you kiss him,” she finished as she strutted away.  
The Emperor led a brief speech for Grigor’s honor and to congratulate the marriage and the alliance it entailed. But your husband was having another sip of vodka, face flushing. As you returned to your seat he pulled you close.  
“No, no, no…sit here, wifey,” he suggested. He put his hands on your waist and pulled you with immense strength over to your seat to sit on your lap.  
You gasped at the closeness, feeling his breath and the outline of his body against yours. But he wrapped arms around you, beginning to kiss your cheek.  
“Here, have some of these cakes, darling,” he offered, handing you one of the hundreds of small wedding cakes served for dessert.  
Taking a bite, you could make out the density and the perfect amount of sweetness and flavoring.  
“They’re…they’re scrumptious! Who made them?”  
“Hmm, maybe the cooks. I just wanted to see your reaction to them,” he answered.  
He pulled you a little closer, nuzzling into your head, neck, and shoulder area.  
“My sweet wifey is soooo cute, and she’s sooo happy!”  
“Are you sure that isn’t the vodka talking, Grigor?” you retorted cheerfully, noting his glass.  
He looked at you. Although his eyes were dilated from drink, he wasn’t drunk…at least not yet.  
“If I’m not passed out on the floor, Y/N, I’m not drunk yet!” before taking another sip.  
After a little bit longer, there were more songs. He was sobering some, the vodka wearing off as you offered him some water. He drank it as you stayed on his lap.  
The songs were getting slower. Plates were clearing. And guests were drifting away. You balled your hands into fists and grabbed the skirt of your gown, trying to slow your breathing.  
Your brother, sister-in-law, and father excused themselves to take Sonya’s leash and lead her to Grigor’s apartments.  
“Oh, they’re our apartments now,” you silently corrected yourself.  
Catherine and your mother came by. Grigor perked up and gently led you off of him.  
“Y/N, Catherine offered to be with you when we lead you there,” your mother began.  
Thanking with a curtsy, you left Grigor and followed them slightly behind to Dymov’s room. But looking behind, you admired Catherine glancing back at you with a smile and making small talk to her about books. She seemed so young despite the grandeur of her title.  
They walked you over to the Dymov apartment. It seemed ominous with it’s red and the nighttime darkening everything. The little dog barked and skipped in happiness when you walked in.  
“Hello Sonya!” you said.  
It wiggled its tail in greeting, little fuzzball. Mariol walked forward, smiling. She seemed to look lighter and happier, spending time with little Sonya.  
Your mother and Catherine unbuttoned you and pulled your dress over your head and removed the rolls from your hips. Mariol began to unlace your stays from behind.  
“I…I’m so nervous I can hardly even think!” you confessed.  
“Y/N, you have nothing to fear, really,” Catherine assured.  
“It will be fine,” your mother assured, taking your hand.  
“But…what if he…he hurts me. What if he…he rapes me. I’ve heard about that happening on wedding nights and…that’s what scares me the most.”  
Catherine took your shoulder and squeezed it.  
“You can tell me, and I’ll punish him.” Catherine comforted you. “The Emperor won’t know and if you’re in danger, you can run to me. Wake me up in my chambers. I don’t care.”  
“Does it…hurt when it happens?” you ask.  
“When you’re new, sometimes. But just a little. And not everyone feels pain the first time.” Your mother informed you.  
Stays removed, Mariol began to undo your hair and wipe off what makeup was there with a cloth. You felt your hair fall down. Part of you wanted a blanket or a robe. You were in your empress's presence with only a shift on.  
“What is I can’t…please him?” you asked.  
Georgiana’s voice from earlier this week had haunted your mind considering tonight. If you did not perform well or even perform at all, you might be considered a failure to Grigor and even to your family, you feared. Yet, why did the thought of your husband scorning you for his past lover make your stomach burn with envy?  
“Don’t worry, it will be alright. Just tell him ‘no’ or ‘yes’, be firm and clear. You don’t have to please him…just enjoy being with him, getting to know him,” your mother comforted.  
“It will be okay,” Catherine repeated. She guided your hand and you both sat on the edge of the bed. She grinned at you and you shyly smiled back.  
A few minutes ticked by. Then male voices were right outside. Your heart lept to your throat and you felt your legs freeze. Your hold on Catherine turned to a grip.  
Then came the fateful sound.  
There was a knock on the door.  
The three of you jumped almost.  
“Who is it?” Catherine asked.  
“It’s Grigor and the Emperor.”  
Taking in a shaky breath, you said “you may come in.”  
Grigor walked in next to Peter, who was flushed and stumbling a bit in his walk. Catherine handed you a deep green robe to wrap around yourself for a bit of modesty, seeing how embarrassed you already were at people seeing you in your shift. The three of you curtsied and the two men bowed, Peter, staying low and then swaggering over to a chair. He flopped down on it, leg over an arm, and started blowing a little bird whistle.  
You noticed Grigor was still in his wedding outfit and held a glass canter of vodka and two large glasses  
“Only a little while ago you were playing that Grigor when I was fucking the Empress, remember! Now we…we’ve fucking switched and now here we are!” Peter announced, blowing another shriek that erupted in spit across the floor.  
Grigor walked forward and kissed your knuckles in greeting. It only struck you how handsome he was. He had a charming smile and the dark colors flattered him. He put an arm protectively over you and turned to the small group  
“Thank you, everyone, it was a lovely ceremony.”  
“Count Dymov, do you need us to do anything?”  
“No, mother,” he added, “and you may call me Grigor. For now, I hope you think of me as if I was a member of your family too.”  
She grinned in return and addressed him by name.  
“Phlah! Names shames,” Peter mocked, twirling the whistle with his fingers. Catherine looked at him with eyes wide and eyebrows down.  
“How about we all have a toast to today!” Grigor announced, Holding up the decanter.  
He handed a glass over to the emperor and then a glass between you both.  
“I say our Emperor goes forth, as our ruler and sovereign,” he suggested, pouring an extremely generous amount of vodka in the cup while giving his own only a dribble.  
“I say yes! Hu—zaaaaah!” Peter cried, sucking up the vodka in a heartbeat. Grigor shared his glass with you so you could have a sip of the stuff before he finished it up.  
Looking up at him, he gave you a glimmer in his eye. And you caught on.  
“And let’s have a toast to the alliance! And our beloved Emperor for allowing it to happen. Huzzah!” you toasted, raising your glass.  
On cue, Grigor poured another heap of vodka into Peter’s glass which he raised and swallowed down as if he were a thirsty beggar.  
“Huzzzahhh f-for meeeeee,” Peter mumbled.  
His face became even redder and he struggled to get out of his seat.  
“Shit, w-why is everyone spinning! I order you to-to stay still!” he barked.  
Catherine walked over and supported him over her shoulder.  
“Let’s retire, shall we?”  
“N-no! I want to…I want to watch G-G-Grigor f-f-f-uck her so I c-can…can have a good wank at it, a-at least, and m-m-maybe get my turntofuckher….ohmyfuckI’m going to vomit,” Peter announced. He ran out in a heartbeat and you heard him vomiting in the hallway outside.  
And then the noise of his body falling on the floor.  
“I will take him to his chambers,” Catherine offered.  
Her eyes were alight and her pink lips tight from holding back laughter. Mariol placed an arm over her mouth as well and scurried out behind the empress. There were several footsteps and the huffing of serfs and you knew that Peter now had to be carried unconscious-and far away.  
“I believe I must retire as well, good night,” your mother said.  
They dismiss and leave. Now you were both alone. Your heart was racing, but you smiled and turned to Grigor in gratitude.  
“That was brilliant.” You praised.  
“I did have a feeling he’d want to do that. So I decided to do something about it.”  
“The vodka did get to me a little earlier,” he confessed. “But It’s worn up.”  
You nodded, “yes, of course. I can tell.”  
“Do you…need anything? Some water?”  
“Of course.”  
He walked over and got you a fresh glass poured from a crystalline pitcher. You washed away the bitter sting of vodka from your mouth and so did he. Both of you sat across from each other on the two chairs before the fire. At first, all was quiet.  
“Y/N…I know all of this had not happened the way we thought but…you have the support. My support. The Russian Crown. And my house and of the Dymov family, as well as our protection. You’re…you’re one of us now, it’s your right as a countess,” he promised.  
I’m not Y/F/N Y/L/N anymore. I’m Y/F/N Dymov. You thought. Still unused to it.  
“Thank you. I know I was quiet, but so much has been happening, today. I don’t know quite what to say,” you replied.  
“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”  
You finished your water and he finished his. Another silence.  
“You looked very handsome in your coat today, you’re a lovely man,” you compliment. He looked especially lovely with the fire’s glow against his face.  
“Thank you, but I’m starting to get…a bit uncomfortable. May I take dress down to my shift?” he asked  
“You may.”  
He opened the door and brought the old man serf. The old man took away his shoes, stockings, coat, shirt, wig, and everything else, setting them away until he was only in his shift and a pair of white breeches.  
Though you stared away from him, focusing on the empty glass in your hand. He walked forward as soon as the old man exited.  
“Y/N…you are tense. Are you…nervous?” he asked, kneeling down to be at your level.  
You nodded, not even looking at him.  
“Yes. I was scared you would…force yourself on me,” you voiced. “It’s what I was going to tell you earlier.”  
He walked forward to you and put two of his hands on your shoulders, but not heavily.  
“Y/N, I won’t do that…you can’t please a woman by forcing yourself on her and I…I didn’t want to displease you. I told you earlier, I don’t want to hurt you.” He reminded.  
Your shoulders relaxed.  
“I didn’t want to displease you either. Its just…I…I’ve never slept with anyone before. You’ve probably seen the file form the doctor we gave to Archie. There. The proof. And I…I’m just…I’m just nervous.”  
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous as well,” he comforted.  
You thought of the Morning gift, of your duty …but you noticed the outline of his body through the shift. And every time you found your eyes go to his face, they would go back to his body.  
Your eyes noticed that the books from Orlo were on a desk in the corner.  
“What about these?” you said.  
Grigor brought them to you. You passed a bit of time flipping through them. The illustrations, even he admitted, were lovely. You both studied it, asking which tales he was familiar with, and what stories you knew of. The tiredness got to you slightly and as you both sat on the chair as he sat down beside you, you laid your head against his shoulder a little sleepily.  
Sonya slept deeply in the corner. She laid down on a soft pillow, her belly full of roast chicken from the feast, and legs twitching as if chasing something. Then she woke up a bit and wandered over to the next room to sleep.  
Grigor closed the book and raised your chin to meet his face.  
“I think I’d like reading more if it was with you, can we…we move to the bed? You seem a little tired,” he said.  
“We can.”  
Both of you settled into the sheets. You sighed at the warmth of the blankets over you.  
“Russia’s every bit as cold as you said,” you jested  
“Then can I hold you, to keep you warm…just to make you comfortable.”  
“You can.”  
He wrapped his arms around you. The fire crackled in the distance and you could make out a ticking clock somewhere else in the room. Both of you laid down on your sides, looking at each other. He felt nice compared to the cold air everywhere else in the apartment.  
“Can I kiss you, Y/N? I guess for…for duty. Nothing else has to happen until you’re ready.”  
“You can. For our duty.”  
He kissed you passionately, deeply. Something inside you made you grab him. You didn’t feel like you wanted to push him away. It was a tight embrace. You liked kissing him. Kissing him had set you on fire, something in your was waking up suddenly. You put your arms around him to deepen it.  
Then you let go. You were almost afraid of this wanting. You liked touching him, almost too much. You could notice the top of his shift moving around, showing a bit of his chest.  
“Let me kiss you two more times, please…for the alliance’s sake.”  
“I’ll let you,” you said.  
He leaned down for the first one but instinctively rolled on top of you. You gasped.  
“I…I’m sorry…am I crushing you?” he asked, shrinking away.  
“No…it just surprised me. It’s not bad…”  
“I don’t know what came over me.”  
Then you smiled, and there was a new voice coming out of you.  
“That was still one kiss, though. You own me another one.”  
He kissed you again. Your hand went to his chest, lightly touching it.  
“I…I’ve seen statues, but I’ve never seen a man in only his shift before…” you admitted.  
“You can explore, you can touch me” he smirked.  
You hands explored his neck, his shoulders, and then began tracing his chest again, and one to his back.  
“Grigor…it’s for Russia but…I want you to touch me…”  
His head tilted and he blinked rapidly.  
“To touch you?”  
“I… I…I trust you…”  
“Well, if it’s for business…I will”  
You began to trace him more and he let his hands wander over you as well. You traced his neck down to around his shoulder and arm, feeling how each place rose up and went down. When you got to his hands, you put each of your fingers into the crooks of his- hands interlaced. He moved from kissing your lips to your cheeks, and then your neck. It was new and strange, tingling. But you liked it too much to push it away. And when he shifted to be more on top of you-but not his full body-you liked it too much to not stop it either. And every time you felt a small touch or kiss end, you wanted more.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Once it was over, he rolled off, both of you lazily staring at the ceiling and catching your breath.  
Then you looked at him with swollen lips, undone hair, and wide eyes. And he looked at you.  
You began to laugh. And he laughed too in tandem.  
“I was terrified of that! What was I thinking!” you said, looking over at him. The previous fear had melted away.  
“It’s always terrifying when you do it first, even with a new person. But…you’re…you’re good.” Grigor commented.  
The air from around felt cold. The fire was dying down and who knew what hour it was. Your two shifts remained crumpled on the floor like ghostly puddles.  
“Could you…could you hold me?” you asked coquettishly, leaning towards him.  
“Please? It’s getting cold,” you added, bringing his hand up to kiss his knuckles.  
He felt very warm, both of you have sweated some. But you did not mind the smell.  
“I…I think we might find a way for this to work…”  
“Yes, I…I agree.”  
He pulled you into his chest. Your eyes saw the small hairs and the rise and fall of his breathing.  
“I remember…when I would wake up in the morning, and…I’d hate it.”  
“Why?” you ask.  
Tracing his chest, drawing little figures into it. He let you rest your head on his arm. It was getting darker and darker, the candles in the room were dying and giving out bit by bit.  
“I’d just feel…alone…” he confessed.  
“Not anymore, Grigor. I’ll make sure of it. You won’t be alone with me.”  
You both fall asleep deeply.  
At one point you wake up briefly, only to see Grigor talking to the old man serf, but he turns to you and shushes.  
“It’s early-get some rest, Y/N. It was a long day yesterday,” he whispers to you. You see some tiredness in his eyes as well.  
You lay your head back down without a word. You fall back asleep.  
The light of a later part of the morning fills up the flat when you open your eyes again. Turning around, Grigor is wearing his shift, but still fast asleep.  
Watching him for a while, it seems he won’t be waking for some time. Even though sunlight is coming out of the windows.  
You pull on your shift and your old green robe, you move over to where a tray was set with complimentary coffee in a fancy porcelain set and certain pastries with a note of congratulations from someone’s Aunt Elisabeth or other.  
There is an envelope on the tray and when you open it there is some money.  
You had forgotten about the morning gift completely.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now you and Grigor are finally married. But what about life after the wedding? And of your family?

The morning after the wedding there was a sealed letter placed on your mother’s table. She nearly dropped it in nervousness.

Something had happened. Something had already happened. The alliance may even be in danger and so was she. Everything was too new now. The blue bed that you slept on in the other room was now empty. Even little Sonya’s trotting and barking was gone as well. She had to face the morning alone. And you, her daughter, her dear child, was now a married woman.

She ripped it open to read the contents with wide eyes.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emperor Peter was about to take his morning as usual- sleeping in late. As was typical for a hangover. Peter laid out on his belly like a starfish, still in his clothes. Georgiana smirked as she entered the chambers. She heard him groaning even in his dreams. Already in her dark robes and nothing else on, she knew he would be groaning for different reasons in perhaps an hour. She knew that after a night of celebration Peter would call on her one way or another to cure the headache he had with her kisses. She might as well be ready. There were worse ways to start the day.

Her eyes trailed down to a sealed letter on the table on the other end. 

It was Grigor’s seal.

Before she could stop herself, Georgiana grabbed a small letter opener and cut it open. She read its contents.

It was short. But enough. She put it down, sitting on the chair and taking in a deep breath. Her lovely ivory face turning red. Tears blurring her eyes as she breathed in the message it contained. As she sat down, she let the waves of grief flow out of her, glad that the emperor was too deep asleep to see it.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your brother and his wife were late risers. So, they were confused by the excited knocking on the doors of their salon while the sky was still pink.

The lodgings given to them were surprisingly beautiful. Large, plush beds that were the color of cream, vases full of roses, and purple canopies over their heads as they slept. And all expenses covered. Your brother gently padded his wife’s shoulder as she groaned at the sound.

“I’ll get it…”

“Thank god for this bed…” she nestled into the pillow to fall back asleep. 

Your brother yawned and crawled out. He smiled and kissed his wife and she smiled before she returned to dreaming. His eyes were crusted with sleep as the door cracked open but shot awake at the sight of your father.

“Wha…what is it?” he asked.

“I have a letter…it’s from Grigor, Y/N’s husband.”

He tilted his head in astonishment.

“Already? Why? What happened?”

“I don’t know yet…I thought we both should find out…” he commented nervously. “’Sides, my eyes are bad. Can’t read a thing on it.”

Your father handed it to him, and your brother read it out loud.

“To the Y/L/N Family,  
Last night under the sight of God, Y/F/N and I consummated our marriage.  
The alliance is now completely secure and may nothing hinder it with our union. You may rest assured everything is now safe. Madame Y/L/N and the Emperor know of this as well.  
Your Son-in-law, as of yesterday,  
Grigor Dymov.”  
Your father and brother let out a deep breath. Yet there was a knowing look between them. Your brother looked again at the letter.

“And…she’s his! I can hardly believe it…I barely even know the man myself!” your brother said.

“Well, it’s secure…it’s completely secure…our alliance with Russia is safe.”

As your brother returned to bed, worrying thoughts entered his head. Grigor had a bit of vodka and was putting you on his lap and kissing you a lot. You looked so so timid with him. Not to mention Peter. If this man was close friends with Peter then that said enough. Your voice was trembling when you said your vows. You would only speak softly. And you only knew Grigor for so long. The moments before you were led to Grigor’s chambers you looked like a lamb led to the slaughter. And he could do nothing about it.

This alliance came at the price of your torture.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As you put the envelope into the pocked of your gown, you heard a familiar yap.

Sonya trotted over. With her ears down, she wagged her tail and reached up for you on the skirt of your robe as far up as she could.

“Hello love…do you like the place?” you asked.

She placed her paws on your skirt as you gentle petted her head.

“Shhhh, be quiet. Please don’t wake pa…him…” you whispered.

Was Grigor now her papa? It felt odd to call him that yet.

Who knew when he would awaken, so you wandered through your new apartment. It was large- three rooms, all with large red walls. You especially liked the outer receiving room with a large, dark fireplace and a nice little brown table with two chairs. There was a tea set properly placed there. Sunlight was pouring in and you heard the chirps of a few robins. The redness looked less frightening. The bathtub gleamed when there was sunlight against it.

Quietly you placed Sonya into your arms and scratched her fur as you admired a few portraits on the wall of the guest room. Eventually, she wiggled hard and freed herself onto the floor, shaking in a flurry and then prancing to sniff the place more.

You scurried back into the bedroom. It felt bad to leave Grigor alone once he awoke the morning after your wedding. Especially when you recalled what he said last night.

I used to wake up in the mornings and hate it…because I would be alone…  
You poured yourself a cup of the coffee, relieved that it was still steaming hot. This Liza or Beth or whoever timed her gift right. You sipped on it and let Sonya wander by your feet. Whenever she trotted over to the bed, you would shoo her away. You would scold her for yapping, placing a gentle hand over her mouth and saying firmly “no bark…no bark…”

After a few minutes passed, his eyes opened. He groaned as he woke up. His hand began searching your side of the bed. 

Breathing in quickly, you walked forward on cue.

“Oh…I…I’m sorry…I…” you mumbled.

“Nothing, nothing…did you sleep in? You’re not tired, are you?” he asked groggily.

“I…I woke up a little bit ago…” you answered. “I managed to fall back asleep. I think it’s late morning.”

“That’s good.” He said.

Placing yourself on the edge of the bed, you weren’t sure if you wanted to kiss his forehead or take his hand. You weren’t sure what quite to do at this stage.

“We have a…a gift for us…someone sent us a tray…”

He got up. You were still unused to the sight of his body now in only a simple shift. You looked at the floor. You saw his breeches were still on the floor abandoned. Noticing a black robe over one of the chairs, you went over and got it.

“Is…is this yours?”

“Yes, it is.”

Fetching it, you returned to his side of the bed. Standing on your toes to reach his tall height, you placed it over his shoulders and he slipped his arms through.

“Th-thank you, you’re very kind, Y/N. What are the pastries like?” he asked.

“I…I haven’t tried any of them yet…” you confessed.

“How come?”

“I…I wanted to wait for you…so we could eat them together…” you admitted.

He grinned as he joined you to try the tray. Pulling up the card, he let out a huff of laughter.

“Huh, already she calls us our aunt.”

“Is she your aunt?”

“No, Peters.”

“Oh.”

He smiled. You smiled back. As he sat down and began to eat a strawberry flavored one you noticed a slightly wicked gleam. You looked back and picked a chocolate pastry, biting into it with embarrassment.

You wondered if the intimate moment you had last night would be brought up. Or rather, how to bring it up. What did lovers, much less married couples say after these things? The thing that was unsaid between the two of you now.

“Oh your cock is pretty large.”  
“Thanks for cleaning up the mess between my legs!”  
“I thought I would kick your head off by accident last night-sorry! I’ll be on top next time!”  
There were people who thought men weren’t men, women weren’t women, and children would stay children until they were bedded. You looked at your bare feet poking out from below. It was still your feet. Your hands were still your hands. And even the face in the mirror on the wall across from you was still your face. You were supposed to be a woman now. But you didn’t feel any different than yesterday.

“Th…thank you, Y/N. I appreciate you waiting for me for the food,” he said.

You nodded. “Of…of course…and…about last night…I…”

The words froze in your throat. You were always raised as more of a proper lady. You were able to control any urges you had for other men. Besides, you didn’t want to risk getting pregnant and the difficulties that would bring. Or die in an attempted abortion. Or get a disease. The world of sex had things you heard about. Whispers or a page or two from books that you would secretly read when your parent's backs were turned. But actually, experiencing them was something new. Exciting. Frightening. Unknown.

“I…it was…it was nice…” you said. “You were very nice to me…you are very nice to me…and I…I don’t know anything…”

He smiled genuinely and said “I’m…I’m glad. I’m glad it was nice for you…damn, these are good.” He said, chewing on his bite.

You finished your pastry. Little Sonya raced around the room and perking her head at any new sound she heard of footsteps. It was silent between the two of you as Grigor finished his breakfast. His shift was still open to show a bit of the hair on his chest and his eyes had the slightly dark quality of an hour too much of sleep than one was used to.

“I was so scared about yesterday, I didn’t sleep much the night before,” you commented.

“Y/N…yesterday was very long. Take it easy today, please. You don’t have to do anything today. You can stay in bed all day even if you’d like….”

“That…that would be nice. My mother is still here, can she come over and visit?” you asked.

“Yes! And…Can I invite your family over…just on a small hunt in the woods. The Emperor won’t be there because that’s his required hours with Catherine…ah, attempting for an heir.

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of him. So we can all be together. We’re all a family now.”

“Yes, that…that sounds nice.”

It was a quiet mid-morning after breakfast was cleared. You were grateful for screens to dress behind and as soon as you were ready, there was a serf saying Grigor was asked for.

“Velementov needs your insight on a statue raised for Peter the Great, at once.”

It was a little lonely after he left. You read the fairy tales by the fire, the palace was large enough and you lacked the energy from yesterday to explore it anymore. And interacting with the other ladies of court scared you from what Catherine warned. You decided you would deal with the court on a day you were not tired and aching from preparing a long-awaited wedding. Enjoying the silence and nothingness than fitting for your dress or seeing millions of well-wishers or trying not to let your crown fall off your head.

Looking further at your lodgings, the walls and furniture had matching, coordinating fabrics. There was a small throw pillow in a chair right by your bed that was the same color and pattern of the walls. You stroked the little pillow and then the walls, feeling the smoothness and bumps of the decorative flowers.

You rang up for hot water and some soaps. The bath was too intriguing to not try. Besides, you felt grimy.

It was large. It took several steaming buckets before it was filled and you were left alone to step into it. The soaps smelled like honey and vanilla. There was steam building up in the room from the warmth of the bath. You noticed a mirror on a vanity was fogging up, as well as an oval-shaped area mark on the wall catching some condensation. It was odd. Lightly colored. But there were faint dark marks as if a portrait had been on there for a while.

Shrugging off the observation, you peeked over to the side to see a few jars. Opening the porcelain lids, you saw bath salts and poured them in on an indulgent whim to add more flowery scents. Exhaling deep, your aching feet and limbs thanked you.

The perks of being friends with the Emperor of Russia…  
You took the sponge placed next to the salts, giggling as you rubbed the soap on it. The sponge seemed about the size of your head. It covered your arms and legs. You were scrubbing on your body, standing up in the tub to do so, when Grigor entered suddenly.

With a slight scream, you dipped down into the water quickly.

Splash!  
You backed into the corner, your arms covering your breasts and your knees together, pulling away. Retreating into a near corner of the bath, you turned your head towards him. He even looked a little pink himself and could not resist a smug smile. He was not in his wig but was in the dark green court dress perhaps for whatever business he had to take care of.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to join you?” he asked, half-meaning it.

Though he turned away after the quip and covered his eyes with his hand dutifully.

“N-no thank you! I…I’m sorry…I’m just not used…please don’t gape at me!” you begged.

“Y/N! It’s fine.”

He peeked over and you made sure to duck low enough in the tub. Sure enough, it was safe. The edge of the tub, the soapy water, and your limbs could cover anything too private. Only your head, with your wet hair, was visible.

You placed your hands on your face in shame.

“It’s so silly- we’ve already made love, Grigor…but it’s you…and it’s my body I…and I still feel….” You mumbled out timidly.

“Y/N…it’s alright. I’m not used to having a wife bathing in my room! I should have knocked….”

A jealous image jolted in your brain. Maybe Georgiana bathed in this very place. Maybe that was why he said “wife” and not “woman.” Maybe he was out with her. But…he couldn’t. He just couldn’t…would he? You didn’t love him. You liked him. And he was your husband and you were his wife. That was enough.

He kneeled to the floor, seeing you at eye level with the bathtub covering what needed to be hidden. Though when you turned your head around. Only your head, with wet hair clinging to your face, and your neck and shoulders were visible.

“I…I’ve visited your mother. She will be staying here for a week and so will the rest of your family. You aren’t a prisoner in here, Y/N. You can have her up or visit her apartments. Even today if you aren’t too tired…we can host a tea or dinner for her if I’m not busy. Whatever you would like to do today.”

A smile crept up on you that matched his. You noticed his ears sticking out childishly like a mouse’s ears.

“That does sound nice…I’d like it if she came over this afternoon,” you replied. “And…your-er-our apartments are very pretty. Comfortable. I don’t feel like I’m in prison at all…”

He placed his hand in the warm water and tested it, his fingers stroking it. You noticed how long and graceful his hands looked, swirling the soap as if it was some magic concoction.

“Did you know I have a couple of manors…and more than one vineyard?” he asked.

You shook your head.

“Gifts from Peter to me. If I could perhaps talk to him for a bit…. we would go there. Have a real honeymoon. There’s one near my vineyard in the country in the west. The sunsets are stunning. And the wine’s not bad either. We could watch the sun over a bottle and get away from court for a little while…wouldn’t that be nice?” he offered.

You nodded, “yes, I would love to go there with you.”

“Wonderful. I’ll leave you be.”

He stepped and turned to the next room so you could finish bathing and dress in privacy. Part of you prayed maybe the emperor would listen to sense. If possible. Even one day away in the country drinking wine would be nice. And you could have worse company than Grigor.

That afternoon, right as you were dressed in a simple burgundy dress and invited your mother to have afternoon tea with her in your new home. She was walked in. Running from Grigor’s side, you embraced her as if you had not seen her in a year. In front of the fire, there was a third chair and tea and a few sandwiches. Sonya even barked on her arrival and wagged her tail.

It was just like it was two days ago. Almost.

Until a serf brought in Orlo in a bit of a hurry, his wig disheveled, a slab of some sauce possibly thrown across his jacket. His glasses even looked a little dirty and his hair disheveled.

“The emperor requests your presence immediately,” he parroted, looking at Grigor.

He sighed lightly, but bowed to your mother, gave you a kiss on your hand, patted Sonya’s head, and left.

“Y/N…you seem…you seem to like him,” she said.

“If I was going to be sold for everyone’s sakes, at least it’s to a decent man,” you commented. “So many others aren’t as lucky.”

She took a sip of her tea. Sonya kept trying to stick her snout into the sandwiches and you shooed her away. Your mother laughed a little at the puppy’s antics. She even hopped up and tried to eye her for a bit of biscuit.

“Y/N, I received word this morning concerning the…you know…” she began.

Your grip on your teacup went cold.

“That the alliance is secured.” You said firmly. “Totally.”

Your stomach squirmed.

“Yes.”

“I did what I had to for all of us. I knew if I didn’t sleep with him soon, then everyone I love would be in danger. Grigor told me. Besides, it was my duty as his wife…it is my duty,” you said.

She leaned over closer, glancing to make sure no one was listening. She then placed two hands on your shoulders.

“Did he…did he force himself on you, as you feared? We’re alone, you can be honest.”

“No, he waited until I said yes.”

Your mother released a breath.

“Thank heavens!”

Setting down your cup, the emotions came pouring out.

“But Mama…that’s just one night! And were bound until death! There’s going to be so many more! It’s all so new and I just…right before it happens, I get so nervous!”

Looking down, you glanced at your stayed-up stomach beneath your dress. It looked normal. But who knows? You could be pregnant this very minute. Were you even ready to be a mother yourself?

“What can you…tell me about it?” she asked.

“I was…I was relaxed after it was over and I…I don’t even know what to think. I get nervous whenever he looks at me. I was bathing when he walked in and it scared me that he could gaze all over me. It just…it unnerves me!” you confessed. “And I already did it! How can that be?”

“Well, now you’re married, we can be more candid about it. I can finally talk about it. I understand being nervous. The first few times your father and I made love…”

“Mama, please!”

“It’s thrilling and scary. You’re just new. Y/N, I’ll have to go back home, so we better make use of this time but… but…you have no reason to be ashamed of it. Or too emboldened yet. It can be a beautiful act. And it can also be an awkward one…. just tell me what it is that tortures you and what you like and let’s see if I can help…”

You smiled and spoke with deep honesty to her. She advised you. Discussing everything. Far more details than the bits and pieces after your betrothal was announced. Although your ears burned with details of your parents you never wanted to think about, you found yourself learning more and more about your body and a bit of his and what happens and what to do.

The discussion was had even long after the sandwiches were finished in crumbs for Sonya to sneak licks of.

“I will be here for a little bit, we can discuss plenty more…you can also write, my dear.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was getting dark. Grigor was still not back yet since tea. You were thankful for the long talk with your mother, but she had been long gone and now you were awaiting his return.

The old man serf walked into the room with a tray of food.

“Monsieur Dymov sends his apologies. The emperor is keeping him long. He asked me to send you this,” he croaked kindly.

Thanking him, you accepted the tray. Dining alone as the night sky sparkled out of your window and the red walls grew from scarlet to garnet with the light’s dimming.

The clock from the hallway ticked with the hour as you wiped your mouth and ate the last bite of potato. Opening a cabinet in your bedroom, you found a familiar nightgown was pressed in there and changed into it.

You were knitting away on your bed as the fire crackled. Sonya sat up with you a while and tried to chew on the yarn and then contented herself with sitting at the edge of the bed sleepily. That scarf you were working on still wasn’t complete. You started the project not long before the Emperor called on your home and now…well, things were different now. It was halfway through though. It would take hours of work, but it was still there. Your fingers were still a little sore from being at the task for a while. It still helped you with your nerves of what your husband would be expecting of you.

The blankets over you was a dark green this time, changed so the dark ones could be cleaned. Sonya curled into a ball like a little brown decoration on the bed.

You reached for the brush on top of the chest next to you, placed away from the scarf, and began to work on brushing your own hair when you heard footsteps and a few grunts. And it was none of the servants.

Part of you fretted it would be Peter. If you were alone with him who knew what would happen. But you saw Grigor walk inside. He had a white shirt that was open and darker pants with boots.

“I’m here! It too forever-we played tennis for hours! You can’t believe how many noses we could hit on the portraits!” he reported cheerily.

Taking off his boots. Sonya got up and greeted him. He bent down and began stroking her fur. It seemed comical to see such a large man with a squeaking puppy the size of his neck.

“Tennis? No meetings of state?” you asked.

“Not when he wants to complain! He was completely hungover, too. It was almost pitiful.” He added with a spark in his eye. Grinning, you recalled why he was hungover.

“Any vomiting with the tennis?”

“Had a bucket on the corner- poor fellow!”

You laughed a little bit at the image.

Though to your mixed delight and horror, he took off his shirt, pants, and breeches, climbing naked into bed. As beautiful and toned he was, you never slept next to any naked person. Much less a man. Keeping your eyes on only his face, you froze. Then you ducked to look at your hands. On one hand, this was your husband. Your anxieties wondered if any…part of him would awkwardly brush against you in the midst of sleep.

The bed shifted as he lifted the blanket and sat next to you.

“Yes, none at all, Y/N! Why I…oh…oh I….I’m sorry,” he apologized noticing your embarrassed face.

“It’s…it’s fine. I remembered you liked sleeping naked I'll….I’ll just try to get used to it…”

“Let me…let me put on my breeches.”

He rushed out to shimmy it back on and then hopped back. Exhaling deep, you continued working on a stubborn tangle in your hair. It still hadn’t recovered from the thousands of pins of yesterday. He paused, looking at you. You had sat up, holding your comb now with both hands and clutching it on your lap.

As you returned to brushing, he laid down on the pillow, watching you gently.

“What is it?”

He took a strand in his hand gently, playing with a wisp of your hair. It was too soft and comforting for you to not like it. 

“Your hair is lovely. That’s a sight I could get used to- to see you just sit there and brush it.”

You bit your lip.

“Th-thank you, Grigor.”

As soon as you did, you pulled a strand away, revealing part of your neck. He went over to lean closer. You couldn’t help but stare at how attractive the hair on his chest made him. But your palms got sweaty and your heart was racing.

“Do…do you want to…I…” you felt yourself mumbling over as the sensation took over.

“Want to what?” he asked. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked.

“It’s just….I’m…nothing’s wrong!” you insisted. Though you felt your face looked otherwise.

“Something is wrong!”

You looked up at him with a little sigh.

“You must think I’m a nun, Grigor. I just…I know it’s my duty to…to please you…” you confessed, looking down at your shift, fingers clutched as if ready to pull it up and have it over with.

Besides, wasn’t it true that men were always rabbits in heat? And their wives were bound to lie down and let them at it?

“I…it doesn’t matter what I want, what do you want?” he said.

“You mean…I don’t have to make love to you tonight if I don’t want to?” you questioned, blinking.

“It’s simple as that…” he said with a shrug.

He took both of your hands, gently rubbing his thumb over yours.

“Remember yesterday? I promised you that you have my protection. You’ll always be safe with me, Y/N. Not just with last night. Nothing has to happen if you don’t want it to.”

“Well, I…I’m really tired after yesterday and I…I just want to sleep…”

“May I at least kiss you goodnight?”

“Yes…”

You placed your hands on his face to guide yours and he kissed you sweetly. You could taste his dinner, but you didn’t mind. Though once you let go, he trailed a kiss down to your neck and you felt yourself let out a sound at it. It tickled a little and your stomach was churning again at the feeling of his lips there.

“Grigor…”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you…thank you for the tray…I was hungry.”

“Thank you for being patient. He is my ruler, but you are my wife. We can have dinner tomorrow.”

“Alright, I command it,” you joked.

He leaned forward and kissed you chastely with a smile, cupping your face. You smiled into it and when you pulled away, you found you had held your breath during it.

“Alright, Y/N…good night.”

Blowing out the candles, your room was submerged in darkness.

But you fell asleep lying across from each other. Close enough to feel each other’s breath. And without being very aware of it, your hand wandered to his and held it tight as you drifted away. But it was nice to feel him next to you and feel him nuzzle at you. Soon your exhaustion won, and you were asleep.

At one point when you woke up in the middle of the night and saw the outline of his bare chest rising and falling slowly. You nestled closer and placed your head on it, not minding the feeling of his body. His arm reached around for you. Accepting it, you fell back asleep.

The next afternoon was cool and the trees were orange and autumnal. You recognized the rest of your family outside the palace. Everyone had their warmest coats and cornered hats. A couple of wigged serfs carried small brown bags right by their heels.

Grigor and you walked out to the start of the woods in outdoor coats and hats topped on your heads. You rushed over to embrace them at once. They called “Y/N! Hello,” and gave multiple hugs of greeting as Grigor stood aside to let you have a moment.

Though you noticed your brother frowned when he saw your husband. Giving him only a bob of his head.

As your family headed off where the palace ended and the woods began, you felt Grigor brush by you. You shook off a few leaves that fell on your dark blue skirt.

“Is it…is it safe?” you ask.

“I know every pathway. There are gardens and little buildings here and there. I’ve played here since I was a child-It’s more than safe.”

“I must confess I haven’t explored much on my own. The gardens are still confusing to me. I can’t imagine what the forest will be like…”

An idea struck you and you paused. In the distance, you heard a few doves cooing in a tree in front of you.

“Do you think…” you began.

“Think what?”

“Maybe in the mornings, or the late afternoon, when Peter hasn’t called you, we can see more of the gardens and the palace. Even the woods. I’ll bring Sonya on a leash. We can all walk. Together,” you suggested.

He gave you a crinkled smile. Leaning forward so that his grey wig shifted to the side from his head.

“That…that’s a grand idea Y/N,” he replied. “So help me, you aren’t getting lost.”

Picking up your pace, you both caught up with the party. There were bits of conversation to catch up that felt like older times. And you were grateful for the lack of a certain brash emperor to stir feathers. The only feathers that would be stirring were that of the birds spotted in trees. Easy targets. The men reached for the guns near their thighs and began shooting.

Your father was surprisingly excited about it. He managed to get a small robin, and everyone clapped. Grigor was impressive but was better at brighter colored birds than something duller. The servants ran after the birds and stuffed them into the bags.

After some time of fetching, walking beneath crunching leaves, and some relaxed, light conversation concerning your friends back home, there was a yelp from your brother.

“Look there! A big one!” he cried.

You turned your head to look for this mighty bird. It was a crow, cawing in mockery above. Your father reaching up to aim.

“Arh! My blasted eyes! I can hardly see it!” he cursed, moving slowly as the bird hopped between trees.

You followed with your mother and sister-in-law, chin up to where the large back bird was headed. And then you heard a gruff sound behind you.

Urf!  
Two figures were missing from the others chasing after the bird. Turning around, you could make out some angry whispers. Walking closer, you looked and saw where. Your brother had somehow grabbed Grigor by the collar and pinned him against a tree with his pistol. His nostrils were flaring and his eyes almost red with rage as he spat onto his face.

“I know you did, you bastard! Secured alliance my arse-you deserve to have your head chopped off!”

“What do you mean?” Grigor insisted, eyes large and his face white.

“You deranged pervert! My sister is one of the best women I know, and you torture her like that!”

“I’ve done nothing!”

“You’re a scoundrel among men! And I don’t know what is stopping me from the pleasure of blowing your brains out!” your brother hissed.

Heart leaping, you did not doubt he would pull the trigger on him.

“I know how you Russians are- And everyone knows how happy Catherine is with her husband, how will you be any better with Y/N! Much less, what you did to her!”

You cry out your brother’s name and he turned to see you. Picking up your skirts, you run in between them, placing yourself in front of Grigor. Your arms reach out to shield him. You feel his breath huffing quickly in nervousness and so does yours.

“Stop it! What did you think happened?”

“Y/N, we got a letter bragging about how he forced himself on you and expects us to congratulate him! I won’t stand for any man who treats you-“

“He did not rape me the other night, I consented!” you interrupted.

A few hairs flew free from your hat. You felt your hands ball into fists. Again your own privacy concerning your body was being tossed around and displayed publicly.

“What?”

“I consented to consummate the marriage. Grigor never forced himself on me. And he promised he would. I know you’re protecting me, but I won’t you let hurt him- stop being ridiculous!”

Glancing back, Grigor’s eyes were the size of robin’s eggs. His jaw was slack and he was frozen in place, but his posture softened from your protection.

“Sir…may I add, is this the way you thank your patron?” he asked.

Your brother blinked. His hand holding the gun relaxed in mid-air.

“P-patron?” he asked.

“Do you know who covered the fees for your travels? The bill for the hotel?”

“It…it was a gift. Anonymous. I thought it was from our tenents or from the Russian court so we could…” your brother responded.

“It was from the Russian court. Because I fucking sent it. I begged Peter to let you come to the wedding and be with Y/N the day we departed for Russia. I had to nag him every day for weeks and weeks. Can you imagine nagging your damn sovereign?! But he finally agreed. I paid every penny just to have you be taken here and have a roof over your head the whole time! It’s because of me you aren’t away at your home wondering if you’d even see her again!” he said in frustration.

It was your turn to drop your jaw and turn your head around.

“You…you did that? But…why anonymous!” he asked

“It was in case Peter fucking disagreed! And he would have if I didn’t spend out of my own damn pocket! If it were that, I would have sent Y/N to the hotel to see all of you.” Grigor explained.

Your brother was aghast, and you blinked in surprise.

“Why? Why all this…for me? For us?” you blurted.

“I didn’t want bad blood with my in-laws! And Y/N your face- the look you had when our carriage was pulling away after the contract was signed…it haunted me. How scared, and miserable you seemed…I had to do something about it. I was practically stealing you away from everyone you’ve loved and known…I thought it would at least make you happy. It would make everyone happy. So, I did it.”

He nodded, looking down at you with his anger flushed out and his features softening.

Ears burning, you nearly clutched his hand as you processed what he did. Your brother sheathed his pistol..

“Forgive me…. she’s my sister and I…I was scared that I failed to protect her…” he apologized.

You soon heard footsteps and the others following suit. You felt Grigor’s gloved hand clutching yours as you both walked up, your brother in front of them.

“Why, what is it?” your sister in law asked, arms akimbo as she reached him. “We’ve been looking for you for a while!”

“I…uh, saw a rabbit and we raced to catch it, honey…” your brother answered with a quiver in his lip.

She rolled her eyes but got his arm anyway.

“Well, at least you’re safe. I thought we heard a bit of fighting,” she added, kissing his forehead.

Looking up, you felt Grigor walk forward, suggesting.

“Sir… join me after dinner, I have a bottle from Kiev. Let’s crack it open and enjoy a little mano e mano chat…we only need to know each other better. Is that good?”

“Yes that…that’s good,” your brother nodded, allowing his wife to loop her arm around his and lead him away.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There must have been a little magic stored in that bottle. You sensed that after dinner you should leave them alone for them to drink and talk it out, especially since guns would not be involved. Though you could not help but place your ear outside the door that led to your apartment.

Though as you sat outside the hall, listening through as Sonya panted in your arms, you heard a clearing of a throat. Turning, you saw Mariol holding a book.

“The Empress asked wanted me to know, have you ever read Rousseau?” she asked sharply.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Then she wanted to give you this as a late wedding present. And for me to say that you’re free to visit her to talk about it. Count yourself lucky she likes you,” she added honestly.

Biting your lip, you thanked Mariol and accepted the thin book bound in red. Sonya sniffed at it in your other arm.

As much as you wanted to glance through the pages, you heard ridiculous laughs from your brother. Chuckling as Grigor chatted about a whistle that could summon an army of ducks from the back yard. But it was your brother’s silly, relaxed, happy laughter. The one of the happy boy you grew up with and not the man who almost killed your husband hours ago.

Poking in your head at the crack of the door shyly, you saw that they were enjoying a roasting fire next to them. Heads turned to acknowledge you. You shied away at first, but Grigor gestured you over.

“Ah! My darling Y/N…. come join us, please!”

“Isn’t this a man conversation?” you asked teasingly.

“I can make an exception!” he said, sipping his vodka.

Grinning you obliged, setting down the dog to be at your side and putting the book away. You allowed your husband to lean against you and clutch your hand. The sensation made you nearly feel a little dizzy. Even greeting him with a kiss on the cheek as thanks for your cup of Kiev vodka. And your brother’s eyes didn’t redden this time. In fact, he gave you a toothy grin like the kind you shared when you ate sweets as children. When he fell asleep that night, you found yourself happy to see him smiling but secretly a touch disappointed. And you knew why.

That next night you waited for him to return from Peter’s request to dine and play who knows what games. Your heart was beating fast as you gave your hair a quick comb through, just as he liked it. Admiring the green laid on the walls in contrast to the red, you heard him mutter something to his servant. But you kept thinking of him- how he kept you safe on that night, how he shared the vodka with you, and the personal sacrifices he made to bring your family to you for the wedding. That and the image of his bare chest rising and falling in the middle of the night made you suddenly burn and ache for him when he left. And you wanted to do something about it.

There was the orange glow of the candles and the rest was taken care of by the night sky.

“Y/N? Y/N, where are…”

You wore your green robe and sat down on the bed at the end. Grigor walked into the room and then froze. Beneath your robe, there was nothing else and he noticed.

“Hello, I’m here…”

“Hello…” he greeted. His pupils growing wide.

“I…I want to be yours tonight…if you’ll have me…And I’m just as nervous, but I want you too much for that…”

You walked up in front of him and touched his face gently.

“You…you want me? Do you want me?” he asked, almost in confusion.

“I want you. Now take me, husband,” you said.

He was on you in a heartbeat, his hands undid the knot holding your robe together. And though a jolt of nerves shot through you, you buried yourself in kissing him back too much to focus on it.

There was a peaceful week following. Dinners, teas, and visits. Drinks between you, your brother, and Grigor as the alcohol burned your throat and the fire toasted your sides. Numerous visits and talks. And nights where you slowly got more comfortable with yourself and Grigor and connecting through your bodies and not being ashamed of it.

In a blink of an eye, it was a week done. And your mother’s apartment was filled with her luggage.

The other three met you and Grigor in front of the palace as their carriage together trotted up. You embraced your father and mother constantly. You felt yourself cry when at the sound of the hoofbeats. Your father kissed your forehead, “my darling girl, I’ll miss you so much.”

Your mother gave you an extra hug and said “your father and I will always love you, no matter what.”

Your sister-in-law made promises to write and you swore to include details of whatever mischief little Sonya got into with an attempted sketch.

While Grigor shook the hands of each of them he paused before your brother. Hesitantly.

“I didn’t know you well…I hope you will forgive me,” your brother confessed. “I shouldn’t have acted the way I did…I love my sister and I was worried for her safety, her happiness.”

“I promise you- your sister will want for nothing under my care.”

“Even if the Emperor…?”

Both of you froze. You seemed to have overlooked it. But your brother’s gaze was serious.

“He’s my friend, she’ll be safe even with him,” he answered. Although a sad glimmer in his eye told you that there was a memory shooting in his head that was saying otherwise.

Now you were truly alone, you thought. And with a ruler who was both a great help but could also be a great threat to you. You recalled the way he oogled you and suggested you come to his bed-chamber that first night as a complement to the royal guest and you felt yourself shrink once the carriage door closed.

Before you knew it, you were trembling, and you started to sob. Grigor took your shoulder and shushed you. He opened his mouth but stopped himself. What was there to even say?

There that coachmen and those horses were, taking your family further and further away. No more reading with your mother. No more eating with your father. No more discussing plays with your brother and his wife or anything. A part of your life. Your childhood. Your adolescence. Your youth. All you had known. All you had been raised with was leaving. That a part of you was dead and a new life with new, wild, frightening people was beginning. This time your mother wasn’t there to squeeze your hand and talk about anything. Your sister-in-law couldn’t make you laugh. Your father couldn’t put an arm around you when you cried. And your brother couldn’t rush a man into the woods with a loaded gun to protect you.

Grigor looked down at you and placed an arm around your shoulder. You leaned into him into a half embrace as the carriage holding your family disappeared in the distance like melting snow.


	5. Chapter 5

“Come here Sonya! Come here!” Lady Svenska cooed, wiggling her fingers.

The puppy trotted to her and she squealed in delight.

Tatiana bent her knees, her lime green dress bunching below her like icing on a cake as she did.

“Sonya! Sonya come!” she gestured.

With a happy trot, Sonya waddled over. She reached up, her tiny tail wagging.

“Oooo, good girl! Good girl!”

You had been invited to a tea party with the other ladies. Although you had gotten closer to the empress, you feared if they would see you as an enemy. Especially hearing of Catherine’s last tea party with them. So walking in, you brought your secret weapon. And it worked.

The only woman it seemed who was not having the time of her life with what was happening was Georgiana. Dressed in her purple gown and largest wig, she sat a little slumped on the couch. She was sipping her tea every now and then but crossing her arms. She stared daggers at the dog and how it trotted. She preferred any small circle that came over to obsess over the latest scandalous affair, but even then she kept one eye on Sonya as if the dog was a wolf ready to attack. She didn’t dare say a word to you. And you didn’t say a word to her. But if there was nothing said, then nothing bad could happen.

Smiling, you helped yourself to a red macaroon, delighting in the crunch and cream of it’s taste. Lady Svenska walked over to you and asked.

“Can she do tricks?” she questioned.

“Almost. She’s getting better at walking. She used to pull and run a lot, but she’s better at being obedient.”

“And she doesn’t tear things up?” she asked.

“Only sometimes. I have to watch where my dresses are stored,” you answered.

“Ah! She’s such a good dog! How lovely of you to bring her here, Madame Dymov!”

Georgiana’s eyes went dark.

“Will you come to our ball throwing this evening! It is most fun! Mine might go another inch!”

“I’d be delighted to! And be sure to tell me more about that maid with the baron old enough to be her grandfather too! And with copous details!” you added on.

“Oh! I do like you! And what of the Empress?”

“Well, we read. And we chat…”

“But all that reading!? Isn’t it time consuming!”

“A little. Her books can take time. I reread pages over and over…but in the best way. I suppose. It keeps her happy.”

“If you have any gossip about her, please share!”

“I..I, uh, will!” you promise.

“First of all, have you any plans or gifts to give her on her birthday, it’s coming up in about a month!”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” you mumbled.

At that moment your husband entered the room. He seemed a little uncomfortable with all of the flowers and pastel dresses, eyeing birds singing ditties in shiny cages and macaroons piled to his chest on platters.

“Oh, Y/N…where is Y/N?” he asked to one lady in a pink dress and grey wig.

She pointed in your direction and he smiled.

As he walked by, he passed the couch where Georgiana was sitting. Her shoe tapped his calf and he turned.

“Hello, Grigor…” she said with a faded grin.

“Hello, George,” he replied politely. Somehow, your blood felt hot. But yet, the marriage was over, so what if they even talked? He probably just enjoyed you talking with him and occasionally sleeping with him. But no, they had to be soulmates. And it was better not to disturb them. After all, despite the suddenness of the marriage, it would work. He would be happy.

“How is the party?” he asked, hands placed behind the back.

“Going perfect. We’re being introduced to the loud, hairy creature that lifts her leg when she pisses. Her dog is there too.” She quipped with a surprisingly relieved smile.

You froze. Little Sonya recognized Grigor and ran up to him, oblivious to how white his face was turning. A few fans were spread, and you barely heard feminine whispers of “…quite bitchy…” It got a little quiet. Even with the string quartet in the back was playing at a piano as if they wanted to hear what would happen next to.

Getting up, you turned around to leave them alone. Let them take it out. Let him laugh, Let her smile. Maybe even fuck against the wall like you noticed the odd couple doing on a night of reveling in the palace, no matter who might see or hear.

“George. I can’t control what you do on your own. But when you are with me, you will not speak about my wife in that matter.”

Pausing, you turned around. A couple quiet tears fell down your cheeks.

“You’re an esteemed lady of the court with the world at your fingertips. She’s a poor creature thrown into an arranged marriage, stolen from another country, and little to never to see any of her family or friends again while you just lay down and let Peter put fruit in your pussy and drink champagne.”

Wiping away tears with your hands, you stood still, not sure what to say. Grigor continued, truly angered and passionate.

“I didn’t marry her because of you. And she didn’t marry me so she could have my cock when you couldn’t. I did this so that we all- we all-“ he gestured to the people in the room “won’t be fucking ripped apart by Swede’s in a fortnight thanks to her families army. You will show her what little compassion you have in your tiny heart. You could even show her an ounce of gratitude for the sacrifice she and I made for the safety of everyone here, including yours. Or else I could have said no and let the swedes stab you in your tits when you’re asleep in the emperor’s bed. And I wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep over it too. But I did.”

She froze. There was even a couple of gasps.

Scooping the tiny dog in his arms, he turned ot you promptly.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I…I am…” you answered. “But I’m tired, let’s go home and play cards.”

“I agree.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week later, Grigor had partied so much with the Emperor last night, wrestling and playing with some man named Leon or whoever. You peaked in the door, and yawning, retired to your own apartments to sleep even if alone.

Waking up briefly in the grey air, you felt him crawling into bed at four in the morning. So you let him sleep in as you took Sonya on her morning walk. Besides, she would pout and whine if you didn’t walk at her certain time.

“Here you go, I know, Papa can’t be there-but I will,” you assured the dog.

You made your way through the halls into the gardens. Sonya was already getting bigger. The collar and leash made for her a while ago was getting snug on her fluffy body.

Enjoying the forest, you heard the rhythmic crunch of the leaves and sticks beneath Sonya’s prancing paws. The cold air stung your lungs in the best way. The sky looked clear and crisp.

Sonya pointed her snout in one direction. She began pulling and barking.

“What is it? Some sort of creature!” you thought, walking forward.

It wasn’t a mouse of squirrel, there was a person slumped against a tree, sitting on the dirt. Walking closer, you made out a dark green skirt and a hat, but a head of dark, curly hair made loose. She reeked of vodka and beer. Her face was pale to where she seemed ill, rather than the lovely cream color of her skin. And beneath her eyes there were several bags.

“G..Georgiana…”

She turned her head to you, squinting.

“Yes…” she grunted.

“What are you doing here?”

She began to laugh a little, bitterly.

“I could ask the same…what are you doing here?”

“I’m walking Sonya…she needs to be exercised so she won’t get into trouble from being bored,” you explained, gripping the leash.

“Huh, I know sometimes…sometimes Grigor goes with you…” her voice was deep and throaty, far from her usual speaking tone. As if every word was choked up.

She seemed so pitiful you didn’t have the heart to chafe her.

“Yes, yes he does…”

Her exhausted eyes wandered forward into the grove of trees. She kept speaking to you.

“Sometimes we’d walk together. Only if it was nice. We did everything together. Walking. Eating. Dancing. Bathing together. Did you know…I even got my portrait painted and he kept it in his room! Right next to his bed…he…he cared for me so much to where I was right there with him every morning even when I wasn’t next to him and now…now he hates me…”

She began to sniffle, and a few tears worked up.

“No. No, I don’t think he hates you at all…”

“Why did he speak to me that way?”

“He just…he got emotional. And he has been emotional because he loves you. He’s every bit as sad as you are for not marrying…”

Sonya walked over to the crying woman. Alerted by the sounds, she walked over and sniffed at her wet face. She broke out a smile.

“But the truth is…in this court, there’s plenty of women who’ve fucked Peter. More than half. That’s just a fact of life. But I… I love it. I love having men want me, being worshipped, loved, is that wrong?”

“It’s normal,” you admitted. “it’s normal to want to be loved.”

“And the things it gives you. It’s not the least bad. I have all sorts of things. Dresses. Hats. A high position in court. Security. Comfort. Occasionally I can change laws and save lives with just a word-imagine that! And jewels. Jewels I used to dream of having. And I get to enjoy making love to a man who’s skilled at it. It might be the only way for a woman here to move up. That’s the way it is, is that wrong? Is it wrong to enjoy fucking and love a man too? For them to be separate men? They do it all the time and no one bats an eye bit when I do…”

She finally fell down into sobs.

“And he just...he couldn’t accept it. He claimed he loved me, and I… I love him, I still do, he just couldn’t accept me as I am and this world as it is…I thought he knew me…and that I knew him…”

She began to cry more; Sonya reached over and began to lick her face. She laughed at the ridiculous feeling of a dog’s tongue right on your nose and you began to laugh too.

“Georgiana…I’m so sorry I yelled at you that first day…I saw you as a threat and didn’t stop to think what you would feel. How I would feel if I was in your shoes…”

“Ugh, you’re…you’re as saccharine as…as…I don’t even know, Y/N. I’d put you in my…my mouth and my blood would rush, and they’d have to let it out with slugs.”

Taking out a handkerchief, you began to wipe her tears from her face.

“I’m not the one in tears…but…he used to keep a portrait of you…” you questioned.

“He did…is it there? Maybe….”

“Not anymore…” you explained flatly.

So that explained the circular area on the wall next to the bed.

“I know you really do love Grigor. And you care for him…but loving someone is hard. I love my family and friends back home, or unless I wanted to make all of them suffer or even get killed, I had to let them go to come here…sometimes, there are things you have to let go and move on from…” you assured her. You aren’t a bad person for wanting those things. You’re a smart person for figuring out how to get them. I admire you for it.”

“I just keep wondering…I keep wondering what would happen if he said yes…if he agreed to the terms…we’d be so happy…”

And he would see you with Peter and be miserable. Then god knows what would happen you thought.

You took her arm and helped her to her shaky legs.

“But there’s no use in that. Here, let’s get you back to the palace. I think after you get some water and some sleep, you might feel better…”

“But Y/N, Grigor I think…he’s in denial how Peter works here. If a woman needs anything in court, and if Peter picks you…he picks you. And, well, there’s nothing you can do about it…”

Your stomach lurched.

“Grigor might want a faithful wife. He might’ve thought he got that with you but…defying the Emperor is a risk. Too huge. Why say no? After all, he’s a genius at fucking so it could be worse…”

“You need water, Georgiana. And you need to clean up. Then you’ll feel better…” you interrupted, trying to mother her away and ignoring the fear in your gut.

But as you were strolling later in the week, returning from another one of the Empresses’s private discussions, you saw a few ladies eye down at the book. Perhaps they judged you. Perhaps they were jealous. But one bespecaled face saw you, smiled, and then hurried up.

“Orlo! How are you?”

“Y/N-er-Madame Dymov! Enough about me already- I heard the Empress gave you a copy of the Rousseau! What do you think!?” he asked excitedly.

His dark eyes glittered at the book in your hands. Holding it up to him you let him inspect it.

“I was…I was shocked at first. His ideas felt like…like a blast of cold wind. But I…he made good points. And I found myself agreeing after some time…” you explained with a shrug.

“He’s one of my favorites, and tehre’s so much…so much inside there. But I…I wish I could explain it all…”

“Let’s go to my place, I’ll call for a plate...” you offered with a shrug and a smile.

Introducing him to the drawing room, he settled down shyly on the seat in front of the fire. You brought in some tea with a strawberry cake and wound up talking for a straight hour. He got his own turn to pet on little Sonya as she licked his fingers from the cake crumbs. You discussed Rousseau, then he went on to talk about Voltaire, Plato, Paine. Ideas stretched you and you found yourself talking about things you could never imagine debating about with anyone. About people. Power. Faith. Life. Death. Purpose, if there was one at all. Your cup became cold and you had to reheat it by pouring some liquid into it.

Orlo glowed as he explained it all. He was not condescending. In fact, it felt like being in school with a good teacher. You understood and appreciated it even more. You were amazed with the depth of knowledge he had. Beneath his mousy exterior, there was a brilliant mind. Perhaps even genius. You were amazed in him. Strands of his hair loosened out and he smiled more, seeming relaxed and confident. Far more confident than you ever knew him to be in public.

“But out of all of them, I think my favorite is…”

The door creaked as it opened.

His head turned and you saw Grigor walking in. His face was pink, and his eyebrows crossed.

“Hello Orlo, what are you doing with my wife?” he asked, his lips tight and his voice firm.

“I, uh…” he found himself blubbering. His posture slouched and his hands retreated.

Standing at once, you walked up to Grigor with as much poise as you could.

“The empress gifted me with a book and Orlo was asking me about it over tea, nothing more…” you explained plainly.

“It’s fascinating. Isn’t it!” you added, throwing back a look.

Orlo nodded shyly, getting out of the seat like it had spikes.

“Very.”

“Oh, alright…” Grigor replied quietly.

Once Orlo thanked you for hosting him and shuffled out, Grigor’s eyes never left his steps.

He was quiet over dinner. You had to ask questions about his day and have Sonya’s begging fill the silence. Later, you changed into your nightgown to see Grigor was already in bed.

You saw him curl up to the other side. Not turning around, holding the blanket over his shoulders and leaving your side disproportionally cold.

With a huff, you placed your hands on your hips.

“What is it?” You had a guess, but you wanted to hear it from him.

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong” he said in a tone that said something was definitely wrong.

“What is it…tell me…” you wheedled, sitting on the bed and leaning closer to him.

He turned around.

“I understand we agreed to follow orders to marry. Not for us. Our countries, the safety of your family and for their workers and tenets to not go hungry, for protection, the alliance, and for Russia to succeed against the Swedes… but I know you didn’t choose to marry me…if you…if you…are in love… then I guess it would make it easier…but you will at least be honest with me and not play around when you fall in love with some man!”

“In love? With Orlo?!” you added.

His head snapped back at the sound of his name.

“If you love the prick, then that’s fine! It will make you bear being here better- it’s all fine!” He if it will make you bear this, bear being married to me…”

“I’m not in love with Orlo!” you laughed, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched a little, but didn’t turn away.

“What…you aren’t? Both of you always talk together.”

“I always talk with the empress, and Tatyana and everyone else too. They’re my friends. He’s my friend as well… and…I…I promised you I won’t hurt you. That I will do my best not to hurt you…and you’re obviously hurt…” you reasoned.

The clock chimed the hour in the back.

“I…yes, I was…I had memories of when…you know…” he muttered out, looking down.

You folded your arms and turned away from him.

“Well, have you ever kissed Georgiana since our marriage? I guess you can run back to her, like I’m apparently running to Orlo. Should I be worried about her?”

“Uh-no! Not at all! We’ve barely talked since the betrothal! I talk more to Sonya than I do to her in a fortnight!” he said, pointing to the dog curled asleep on her pillow.

You crossed your arms and started to laugh a little. A smile cracked on his thin face as well.

“If I have no reason to suspect you of anything with George, you have no reason to suspect anything of me and Orlo!” you reasoned with a shrug.

Leaning forward, you pulled more of the cover to your side. He relented.

Both of you were tense. Words left your voice.

“Just dinner and drinks with your friend, nothing more. Perfectly normal.” You assured.

Even if it meant eating in his chambers with large portraits all over the wall and a big green bed on the other side. Peter stood up and greeted you both. His arms were wide, pearls dangling from his neck.

“Ah, hello! Join me!” Peter cheered. “Grigor-make yourself at home! There’s already some food.

You carefully walked in, placing yourself on the couch and folded your hands in front of your lap. Unsure of what to do or say. A finger nudged you.

“Here, Y/N…here’s the seat for you!” your husband said, taking his large hands around your waist and picking you up as you let out a smile.

Grigor placed you on his lap, like he did on your wedding. Smiling, you accepted the feeling of him nearby and settled your weight. The closeness far more natural than ever. Grigor’s arms were warm as they passed dishes around from one man to the Emperor. A serf poured a Kiev vdoka and you enjoyed yourselves.

“I tell you- fucked a horse! It’s just a rumor-but can you believe it!” he said.

Laughing in spite of yourself, you shook your head insisting “no, I don’t!”

Smiling. Laughing. Everything felt normal. You laughed so hard you almost snorted your drinkand covered your mouth, laughing more at the dirtier humor. Years ago, your mother would have become so uncomfortable at such words she would excuse herself and complain about it later. Laughs held back were finally released, you jaw uhrt and your cheeks felt hot.

“And that’s what hapoens when you use the duck whistle on the balcony-“Oh, Grigor! Have I fucked your wife yet?”

The drink you were sipping almost spat out of your mouth and you coughed it out. Both of you froze again. You felt Grigor tense up. His breath quickened. His face turned white and then red and then white again. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared.

Turning your head back, you began to give a charming smile at the emperor, even giving the little half smile you noticed to do. You decided if the subject came up, you would be prepared.

“Your highness, of yes, of course we’ve fucked. Several times!” you said.

Where he couldn’t see, you kicked Grigor’s leg to alert him.

“Oh, really!” he said.

“Ah! What a Casanova you are, Emperor! Losing track! But…”

You circled the rim of your glass, and then added on.

“I have an eternally dry pussy, can’t suck cock to save my life, and an ass so tight that deflects any object near the hole so it’s been rather disappointing. It’s a miracle my husband tolerates me. He’s hardly been able to finish the job!”

He tilted his head, pondering it with a hmmmm. Glancing at Grigor, you quickly mouthed “play along.” His eyes bright, he nodded at you, and then to the Emperor in agreement.

“Yes! Fucking Y/N is a total disappointment. Remember her place? They’re boring, plain people even when fucking.”

Peter nodded in agreement, his eyes up to the sky as if thinking about the fake experience. Not that it was to think.

“Humph. I…I think you’re right. It was disappointing. Grigor, if you need me to order you a whore, let me know.”

You kept your hand on his and you saw his eyes dart in confusion and realization, his brain thinking a hundred thoughts.

“Please pour me another drink…” you said, holding your cup to a serf.

“Besdies, Catherine…she’s been having all these ideas about art. And I saw a portrait and I…I cried! I fucking cried-can you believe it? I never knew she could..could even make me feel like that!”

As you left the chambers, you squeezed his hand. Both of you let out a breath and continued some nervous laughter until you were both home.

“That was brilliant!” He praised, sinking in relief in the chair. There was already a fire crackling, drawing warmth into the chilly room.

“I knew he would bring it up, soon. So, I might as well. Now you don’t have to worry about anything…at least for now…” you said with a shrug.

“Oh, but the party tomorrow…you’ll be careful. I think people will be very merry and he might…get carried away…”

“Just give him a galloon a vodka then, he’ll won’t be able to stand.”

\--------------------------------------------------

As the party the next night raged on, it struck you that it was Grigor who was well on his way to drinking a gallon of vodka. The rooms glowed yellow orange with all of the candles. Stringed guitars played out dancing tunes with throaty Russian lyrics where although the words were hard to understand, you had to tap your toes. Women walked by with snakes draped over their necks and you stared in frightened awe at the creature, as if in Eden. Your own gown was a pale pink with bows on the stomacher, a ruffled skirt beneath the first one, and you hair done up in flowers and feathers. You even agreed to wear a beauty mark of a small dog on your cheek. Girgor himself had a grey wig and his finest, deep green suit. He eyed plates of vodka, reaching for two small glasses and downing them…and supper would be served in an hour.

You noticed and Empress and Emperor dancing. She swished her pale pink skirt and he twirled in a black skirt, carefree. It was almost like watching a fight, how they were both powerful yet matched each other.”

“Come on, you sad bastards!? Why aren’t you dancing!? Dance! I command you!” Peter cried out in joy.

“Y/N! Y/N- we haven’t danced too much-let’s dance! Dance with me!” Grigor insisted, pulling you further down.

“Grigor, that’s the vodka talking!”

The musicians were warming up for the next piece in the corner.

“I…I don’t know the…” you mumbled in a panic as other couples filled the floor.

“Oh no-just follow me!” He said with a big smile and his face flushed.

Still you ran out with him, mimicking hand movements and your feet trying to keep up with the steps. If you felt him leading you somewhere, you followed. If you sepearted in lines, you kept an eye on him.

“Girgor…do the trick! The trick!” Peter insisted, running up in the middle.

Eyes wide, you saw your husband grab hold of your body.

“Here. Y/N! I can do it- hold on! Jump up.

He lifted you up in his arms and twirled you up, his arms adjusting to hold you up so that he held you up by your legs, your stomach to his face. You could hear him muffling beneath your clothes.

“We need smof practif…”

But Peter laughed and you heard loud applauding as faces turned to look at you. Even George’s own face had a smile, albeit a sad one.

He set you down.

“Let’s try it again, put your leg on my shoulder…now your other leg..ooof! Now, this one is better!”

He lifted you up so high, you realized you were on his shoulders, and emabarrasingly his head was near your crotch. The court applauhded and laughed and huzzahed. It was so fun you almost forgot your fear of being dropped. you laughed as you held onto his shoulders for deaer life, thrilled to see everyone smaller before you. As if they dhrunk or you became a giant. The chandeliers dripping with diamonds were easy to your touch, your fingertips grazed one as Grigor walked in a circle.

“Ha! I knew you could do it good chap!” Peter applauded before asking.

Grigor placed you down with a smile, he placed his hands on your cheeks and for a moment you thought he was going to kiss you, then his eyes wandered to some vodka and he took another shot.

He was singing as the party ended late in the night. You struggled to support him over your shoulders.

“Grigor…be careful…”

Once you got into the room, Sonya woke up from her nap and barked, jumping at your feet. Staggering, you brought him to your bedchambers.

“Let’s get your clothes off…” you said, pulling his coat off and placing it on the floor.

“You wish to see me naked, you could’ve asked, darling…”

Sighing, you poured the hot water into the golden tub.

“If you don’t bathe, then you’re sleeping with Sonya…”

He leaned down in his shift and breeches to the wagging tail beneath him.

“Oh….hello doggie, cute doggie…good doggie…”

“To bath, Grigor!”

Eventually, you got him to bathe enough to where he didn’t reek of alcohol. Once he dried off, you pushed his breeches onto him.

“None of that tonight with you drunk off your head!”

“Can’t I at least kiss you?” he complained childishly.

“Fine, but it stops at kissing!”

Once you finally settled within your own sheets, legs and feet sore from dancing, you barely put the blankets over you when you felt two large arms wrap themselves around you and hug you tight, pulling you close. He laughed a bit before kissing you on top of your head. You smirked and let him obloge. Then you felt him relax.

“Y/N, I love you….”

You froze solid, your stomach dropping.

“What?”

He took a hand and placed it on your cheek again, before it sloppily fell down.

“Y/N, my sweet angel…I love you…”

Shaking your head, you pulled the covers above you both.

“That’s the vodka talking, now go to sleep….”

He went back to holding you, turning you so that your back was turned to him, you felt and smelt his breath as he kept speaking.

“I love you, Y/N. I’m falling in love with you this minute and…I’m fucking terrified…”

You let his arms settle.

“Don’t wanna…get hurt, get shat on…but every day I’m….falling more in love with you…and it makes me both so happy and scared I could fucking scream…that was why Orlo fucking scared me, and Peter, that wonderful, bastard. I love him, but if he lays a hand on you, I swear to god…”

“Grigor…you need to sleep. You’re drunk. Only time will wear it off.”

Besides, it was better to not get your hopes up.

‘I can’t believe I’m fucking falling in fucking love all over again…never thought after George that I would….never would let myself…thought ”

“But Grigor…you….”

“I’d like to see you…see you happy. See your smiling face before I sleep.”

You gave him a small smile and his eyes fluttered shut.

“Grigor…do you…do you love me….do you really love me…”

You gave him a small smile. He then rolled on his belly, spread like a starfish. He was snoring deeply in minutes.

“Because I think I’m falling in love with you too…” you wanted to say.


End file.
